Cool Blue
by DJZero
Summary: REVIVED! He was always the quiet one, the calm one. Shepard counted on him to never let emotions or prior conflicts get in the way of his duty. She never gave much thought to what went on in his mind, beyond those cool blue eyes. FemShep/Garrus
1. Blues

**Edit 2:**Super duper revised edition circa 7/06/09, now with slightly smaller walls of text for your reading pleasure. Also, new chapters! Oh my god, the world must be coming to an end!

Hey everyone, this is my first fanfiction ever.

**Edit: **Removed the absolutely massive introduction.

**Edit:** _Fixed 2 punctuation errors I missed._

**Disclaimer:** _I do not own or claim to own any of these characters or settings. They are the sole intellectual property of Bioware, and I am only borrowing them for storytelling purposes._

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**1**

**Blues  
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Garrus Vakarian eyed his drink with a cocktail mix of disgust and disappointment. He had requested a Turian beverage, but he wasn't sure if this bartender knew of any drinks beyond human cocktails. The green concoction floating around in his glass seemed to support this theory.

Sniffing the strange liquid and wrinkling his nose, he shoved the drink away.

Garrus sat alone at the bar of one of the most popular human nightclubs on The Citadel. The club was packed to the brim at this time of night, although not with bar patrons.

Taking his eyes off of the toxic waste he had just purchased, he took a quick look around the club. He guessed that the entire dancing area was about 70 feet long, and maybe 100 wide. The ceiling arched upwards, supported by steel rafters, and the walls were painted a light shade of gray. The actual bar was a few seats down, but Garrus didn't feel like 'shooting the breeze' with the visibly bored bartender. He sat in the very last seat of the bar, wedging himself between the faceless and uncaring steel of a wall, and the fiery crowd of dancers.

Bump.

This particular man was not a very good dancer. He would not have bothered Garrus much, had the man turned around and apologized.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry. I didn't mean to bump into you. I'll try not to do it again," he would say.

—But no, this man continued to bump into Garrus. Once every few minutes like clockwork, he would lose his balance and slam into Garrus's back, pulling himself away and back toward his two lady friends, the trio laughing hysterically in a drunken stupor. This was the fourth time that man had bumped into Garrus. He had been counting.

He couldn't have been drunk. Garrus had not seen anyone else at the bar tonight, leaning back to check around the corner, he saw that the bartender was gone as well. Perhaps this music had the same effect as alcohol on some people, drowning out their senses with it's pulsating stabs and rolls, dulling their minds from everything on the outside of those cold steely walls.

Looking around the club, he spotted Kaiden, dancing with some human girl Garrus had never seen before. The expression on his face was one that Garrus was all too familiar with now. It was a smile, no doubt, but different; he had seen true smiles before, filled with warmth and depth. This smile was shallow, cold, forced. Kaiden would never speak to this girl again, but tonight was his chance to escape, to not worry, to have fun simply because he had to. Garrus wanted to escape like that.

Bump.

Hundreds of sweating humans, rocking back and forth, jumping, grinding against each other in time with the music. The 'disk jockey', as Garrus had learned they were called, oversaw the entire crowd, waving his hands back and forth and shouting, a huge grin spread across his face. The floor hissed and moaned with every bass stab as the pounding of a hundred human feet smothered it's steely maw. The song changed, the DJ mixing the two together seamlessly. No one seemed to notice. They kept dancing, jumping, and bumping into each other in a chaotic melee.

Across the floor he spotted a lone asari. Probably the only non-human in the club, aside from him, of course. She had the same expression that Kaiden had on his face. Dancing along with some human male, that cheeky grin plastered on her face, fading every few moments to drop a wink before grinding up and down his body. Garrus turned back to his drink, taking a sip to try and wash out the bad taste that was growing in his mouth. The drink was bitter, with an odd metallic aftertaste to it.

The lights in this particular dance club were not hanging from the ceiling, nor embedded in the walls. Instead, hundreds of glass cylinders were entrenched within the metal floor, rays of light bursting forth every now and then between the writhing mass of human flesh. Garrus tilted his head up, watching the abstract shapes dance around and wrestle for territory on the cold gray walls. He felt at peace for the first time tonight. The whirlpool of colors helped to take his mind off of the blaring music, the bitter drink he was forcing down, and the unique feel of isolation one can achieve only by being the lone person not dancing in a nightclub filled with people.

Bump.

Garrus had spilled his drink. It was bitter, he had no idea what it was, and he would probably be sick later because of it... But he had spilled his drink.

He sat staring at the small puddle of liquid on the counter, the stream falling from his chin down across his chest, his hand clenched around the empty glass. A minor inconvenience considering Garrus didn't even enjoy this particular drink, but nevertheless, it infuriated him.

He suddenly wondered why he had accepted this invitation. He suddenly wondered what he was doing in a human dance club, as he was not human and he certainly did not dance. And he suddenly noticed that if he did not get out of here soon, that man who could not dance very well would be leaving on a stretcher.

Bump.

Garrus got up and started walking around the massive crowd of dancers. The light from the floor concealed most of their faces, making it hard to recognize anyone. He noticed that keeping his head down and staring at the floor, a universal sign of avoidance, actually made him easier to recognize, easier to see. Tilting his head up to mask himself in darkness, he started making his way around the outskirts of the crowd. Finally reaching the exit, he walked outside and turned sharply, leaning against the wall next to the nightclub's entrance.

Massaging his temples, he exhaled, relieved to be out of the club and away from the blasting music.

_I knew this was a bad idea,_ thought Garrus, _she said it would be fine if I didn't come, but I refused. I had to be the different one. Wrex didn't come, who knows what he is doing on his vacation. Tali didn't come either. Not me, the fun-loving turian._ Garrus leaned further onto the wall, crossing his arms and closing his eyes, trying to enjoy a few moments of silence. He was never the dancing type, if he was around other people he preferred to be doing something constructive or engaging, not just moving back and forth with a phony smile plastered to his face.

He couldn't leave, he told Shepard he would come. He promised her he would come. She had been awfully worried lately about every member of her crew. Word of assassins had spread around the citadel, and Commander Jane Shepard and her crew were prime targets. If he left, she might be worried sick.

_Would she?_ Garrus pondered on that thought for a moment, his face contorting into a frown when he noticed the answer. He wanted to leave, he wanted her to be worried about him, to miss him.

_But she won't,_ thought Garrus, _she is still in there, dancing like everyone else._ Anger crept up inside him like it did back at the bar, ruining his silent meditation.

Garrus had been interested in Commander Shepard ever since he first laid eyes on her. He was not sure exactly why he was interested, but he knew that he was. Shepard interested him, and he had made it his goal to get to know her better.

He loved to set goals. All types of goals. Goals with things, places, and people. They could be short term goals. File papers. Do laundry. They could be long term goals. Learn to play chess. Learn human figures of speech. Spend more time with Sheperd. Small personal objectives that helped to turn the monotony of every day life into a carefully executed battle plan. Often, it was the only thing keeping him sane.

Normally he would have shoved this out of his mind, dismissing it as mindless curiosity of a fellow crew member. He couldn't bring himself to do that, though, as he noticed that he had never truly been interested in someone before. Curious? Maybe. But, interested? Definitely not. He had always preferred solitude. He rarely enjoyed conversation unless it was about his job, and all of his free time was spent alone. He had intended to keep it that way.

Garrus had started to notice lately that simple goals were not enough to keep him going anymore. Every moment in which he wasn't occupying himself with something, some mindless task that he had pounded into his own head until he was convinced that it was essential to the Normandy's mission, he was descending further into madness.

The insomnia was getting worse every night. Garrus would shut his eyes and clamp them down for as long as he possibly could, until the pressure swelling up within him was too much to hold in, more of a detriment to his sleep then keeping them open. He groaned and rolled over, glancing at his bedside clock.

2:00.

Shutting his eyes again, he tried to forget everything. Forget all the goals, all the people, all the faces. To fade away into the peaceful void of sleep.

His mind, however, simply would not rest. Citadel. Case files H-E9b. The nightclub invitation. Assassins. Shepard. Oh yes, he had to know more about Shepard. Couldn't forget that, what was he doing sleeping anyways? He had work to do. Much like Garrus had been wedged between the cold steely walls of the bar and the ferocious crowd of dancers, in his sleep Garrus found himself trapped between the dreadful monotony of his daily routine, and the insanity of his dreams.

He explored his thoughts for hours, desperately trying to find sleep, each night there was a different horror waiting to be found.

His dream of the citadel, walking down the endless hallways, blood of all species dripping out from beneath each locked door.

Case files H-E9b, the case files of the murder of Garrus's entire family. Garrus was the perpetrator.

Shepard... He dared not think of Shepard, afraid of what he might find locked away in his subconscious. And yet he could hear her voice, calling in the back of his head. Moaning...

Garrus opened his eyes.

2:02.

He would walk around the citadel aimlessly for hours on end. He couldn't sleep. He could barely speak to anyone anymore, something as simple as conversation was becoming difficult. He couldn't do anything anymore, but walk. He knew that vacation wouldn't last forever, and he would be expected to get back on the Normandy and do his job. His job. Garrus had always been very good at his job, he wasn't so sure anymore.

And so here Garrus stood. Alone, outside of a nightclub, thinking about how he could spend more time with his commander. Images of Shepard dancing around with the rest of those humans, the same phony grin on her face, swarmed his mind. He grimaced at the thought, contemplating what to do now.

As he leaned there, in silence, a human male and an asari walked out, leaning into each other and giggling in ecstasy. As the man's car was pulled up to the entrance, he grabbed whatever money he had in his pocket and shoved it into the valet's outstretched hand; a small tip, although Garrus doubted that the man actually knew how much he had in his pocket. As the valet tried to force a smile and count up the disheveled mass of change in his hand, a single coin dropped onto the ground. The coin bounced and twirled around, weaving around the delicate cracks in the steel floor before settling on a single steel plate, where there was nothing to obstruct it's delicate dance.

As the coin continued to spin in place, Garrus suddenly forgot about everything on his mind. He forgot about the dance club. The horrible blaring music. The big phony smiles on everyone's face. He forgot about his myriad goals and plans, his worries and fears. He forgot about Shepard.

Everything around him didn't matter in comparison to this single coin, spinning around in circles on the cold steel floor. As the coin lost speed, Garrus's focus on it increased. The coin was barely spinning now, struggling to make each successive revolution, and yet it had not fallen. Garrus's jaw dropped slightly, as he stared at the coin, now barely turning, still resting perfectly on it's edge. Garrus stopped leaning on the wall, and made a step towards the coin. It fell.

As the valet bent down to pick up the fallen coin, Garrus's eyes remained focused on the small piece of metal like a hawk watches it's prey. His smile had faded, replaced with a menacing glare that only a turian is capable of.

"Can I help you sir?" said the valet. Garrus was silent. "Can I help you sir?" he repeated.

"It always falls," muttered Garrus, unknowingly his native tongue.

"What was that?" asked the valet, as Garrus tilted his head up to look him straight in the eyes. A look of fear washed over the the man's face. Garrus stood silent, staring daggers at the nameless valet. His hands were clenched, his face was wet with perspiration, his eyes glowing with anger and frustration. As Garrus was contemplating which would be more damaging, a knee to the face or a bite to the neck, he was saved. His mask of sanity and order was preserved for at least one more day, one more minute, one more moment. He was counting the moments now.

Tap.

A simple tap. A tap on the shoulder. A very feminine tap on the shoulder, with a touch so light that it could probably be considered a brush. And yet this tap, this brush, was enough to snap Garrus out of his trance.

He suddenly realized that his mask was slipping off. He realized that he was ready to attack a valet for picking up a coin. And he suddenly realized that he was getting a lot of very strange looks from everyone around him. Garrus straightened up, unclenched his fists, and gave the valet a quick smile.

"Oh, I apologize. I'm not feeling very well tonight," said Garrus, the lies sliding off of his tongue with a cold efficiency. His mind was not set on the valet anymore, or the coin, but the tap he had received moments ago.

He wondered, who was his accidental savior? Someone in the club? Did they follow me out? Did I drop something? Another light tap on his shoulder reminded Garrus that he was still standing in front of the entrance to the club, in front of the same valet that he had just silently threatened mere seconds before.

"Garrus." He knew that voice.

"Garrus?"

He spun around, his eyes wide. It was none other than Commander Shepard. Her hand retracted back towards her stomach, smiling weakly at Garrus. His eyes drifted toward the ground. Taking his hand and ruffling the scales on the back of his head, he exhaled. "Yes, Commander?"

"Are you alright? I came out to get some air and..." She glanced over Garrus's shoulder, seeing the perplexed valet still holding that single coin. She looked him over.. he seemed different. He was always so calm and composed... He appeared distressed, as if something was bothering him. She didn't remember seeing him in the dance club, how long had he been out here?

"Yes commander. I just needed to.. 'get some air' as well. I—uhm. Well..." Garrus didn't know what to tell the commander. It was part of his plan to attend the nightclub and have a good time. Easier said than done. Shepard couldn't know that he had been having a bad time. "I'm feeling a bit ill, is all. Commander."

Looking back to Garrus from the valet, she stared at him intently for a few moments. Her eyes tightening, then finally relaxing again. She sighed. "I'm not feeling too good myself. Could use a bit more fresh air. I'm thinking the gardens, would you like to go for a walk?"

A walk. She wants to go for a walk.

"A walk?"

"Yes. A walk."

_She knows. She definitely knows. How does she know I've been walking instead of sleeping? Could she have been watching me? Does she know that I walk around at night? It's not that peculiar, plenty of people walk for exercise. Is she spying on me? Is she spying on the entire crew? Why would she? What should I-_

"Garrus?" Shepard started to notice a small crowd gathering around the entrance to the club.

"What? Oh. Ermm.. Yes. Well, I mean. Yes, I would like to take a walk with yo-.. to take a walk, get some air. Yes... get some air. C-.. Commander. Walk. Yes."

Garrus put a hand on his head and shut his eyes, inhaling and holding the breath. Shepard ushered him away from the entrance, down a corridor towards the nearest elevator. A small paper sign was taped onto the door.

_Out of order._

"Great," said Shepard, turning around to see Garrus taking a seat on a nearby bench. As she approached him and sat down, he straightened back up, his nigh-perfect posture returning. Shepard decided to ignore this for a bit, sitting down on the bench and looking him over. He was no longer holding his head, color was returning to his face. He wasn't breathing as hard as before, the shaking had stopped.

"Feeling better?" Shepard asked lightly, startling Garrus.

"Oh. Yes. I'm feeling better already. Just needed some fresh air, as you humans say it."

Shepard stared at Garrus. They were sitting in a dank little back corridor leading to nowhere, in the bottom of one of the Citadel's wards. The floor was littered with empty wrappers, discarded foods, and several bags oozing a suspicious green puss. The air was hardly fresh.

Shepard sighed. "Well, the elevator is out of order. Looks like we'll have to walk a few blocks to reach the next one. You still up for it?"

_'Up for it.' _He remembered that one.

"Yes, let's get moving. You said the gardens?"

"Yes, the gardens."

Garrus liked the gardens.

--

They walked silently down the street, Shepard leading with Garrus flanking her a few feet back. Shepard could feel him staring at her with his luminous blue eyes.

She had always liked Garrus, even though she did not know him much. The rest of her crew was very loud, talkative, and social. Garrus had always kept to himself, only bothering her when he had a question about the mission, or helping her fix something around the ship. She didn't mind talkative people, and she liked to socialize now and then, but she could always rely on Garrus to respect her personal space.

She wondered why he had accepted the invitation in the first place. She invited the entire crew, and he was the one person she had really expected to decline.

They reached the elevator. Shepard pushed the upwards facing arrow and stepped back, crossing her arms. She could still feel Garrus's eyes on her, it was making the hairs on her neck stand up. She was about to turn around and ask him why he kept staring at her, when he spoke.

"Shepard?"

"Yes, Garrus?" Shepard said, turning her neck to look at him. His expression had relaxed, the sleek shine of his face accenting his cool blue eyes.

"Are you sure you don't want to go back to the club? I don't want to ruin your night because I'm not feeling well."

Shepard looked surprised. "Oh, don't worry, that club isn't all it is worked up to be." The elevator doors opened and Shepard stepped inside. Garrus was quick to follow her, pressing what looked to Shepard like a hundred buttons on the small electronic console in a flurry of speed. "You know your way around here, don't you?" Shepard smiled at Garrus. The elevator doors closed.

"Oh, yes. It's comes from being in C-Sec, I guess. The citadel is truly massive, though. I would still find new places that I had never been to, even after years of living here." Garrus shifted uncomfortably.

"You ever miss working in C-Sec?" Asked Shepard, prying lightly at her mysterious comrade. He gave this question some thought, his eyes wandering around the elevator car, his hands folded behind his back. His mouth contorted in what can only be described as a turian biting his own lip.

"No, I don't miss it much at all. I much prefer the Normandy, and as I believe I have already said, working with a Spectre." Garrus turned his head back towards the elevator door, rocking back and forth lightly on his feet. He had already told her that, one of the first few times Shepard had spoken to him. However, Shepard was attempting to create conversation, and she wanted a bit more than that.

"Oh come on. You have to miss it somewhat... don't you have anyone back here that you left? Any friends? Family?" Garrus stared at the elevator door, no longer rocking on his heels. He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again.

His head tilted down and away from Shepard, his blue eyes dimming as they drifted back and forth across the golden metallic floor. He was sweating again. Shepard tilted her head more to look at him, her smile faded as she realized she had asked the wrong question.

She opened her mouth to speak, but couldn't think of what to say. The elevator came to a halt, the doors retreating away from each other. Someone must have pressed the button and then realized that they did not need to take the elevator. Garrus exhaled and quickly shuffled out of the elevator, walking down the massive hallway at a very rapid pace.

"Garrus? Wait! This isn't our stop!" Shepard shouted out of the elevator. He didn't turn around.

Shepard panicked in frustration as the doors started to close, squeezing between the two slices of metal and bounding after him. He was a very fast walker. Shepard had to jog just to catch up with him. When she got within ten feet of him, his pace slowed to that of a normal walking speed. His arms were at his sides, swaying back and forth with each step, tri-fingered hands clenched into fists.

"Garrus! Where are you going? This is not our stop!"

He didn't stop walking. He merely turned his head around and gave Shepard a look that will stay with her the rest of her life. She was stopped in her tracks as that sullen gaze hit her full-on.

His mandibles were twitching and contorted. His brow was hardened into a glare that could cut glass. His eyes, however, showed something else entirely. They were sunken, low, almost rolling back into his head, as if they had just given up ever trying to see anything again—anything but sadness, desolation, hopelessness.

It was the look that a dying man would give. Fathomless depression masked by a bulletproof wall of pure anger and hatred. A bulletproof wall that could not stop this particular bullet; the bullet coming out of the gun he had pressed to his head, as he closed his eyes for the last time. Shepard was devastated.

This was supposed to be her vacation. This was supposed to be everyone's vacation. Why did things like this have to happen to her?

_Selfish, s_he thought to herself. She should be worrying about Garrus. Why were things like this happening to _him_? What could make someone give that... look?

Oh god, the look. It sucked the life out of her. She felt as if a thousand years of sadness had just entered her mind and then been swept away, a glimpse into what it must be like for some people. For him. She felt like hitting herself, guilty that the first thought that had came to her mind after witnessing that face, those eyes, was that _her_ vacation was being ruined.

Realization started to dawn over Shepard, hazy, but it was there. The weird looks he was giving the valet. His quick recovery from near fainting to his usual perfect posture. His selfless question before entering the elevator, asking Shepard if she was 'Okay' with going on a simple walk with him, as if she was sacrificing 'the great nightclub' to please his humble being.

He wasn't sick at all. He was sick in a different way, a more alarming way than Shepard thought, or even wanted to think at about. He was always there for her to fall back onto, her crew mate with no problems. No drama. No worries. No matter what happened on the Normandy she was always entirely sure that she could trot down to his dorm room, ring the bell, and have him open his door and look at her with those cool blue eyes. His face expressionless and professional, yet serene and inviting at the same time.

_"Shepard?"_ he would say. His voice was so smooth, with such a soothing metallic ring that Shepard could not help but drink up each and every word that came out of his mouth.

She cherished every time they spoke, no matter how mundane the conversation. She couldn't believe, or, she didn't want to believe, that a look like that had come out of Garrus. Her Garrus. He was the crew member she knew the least about, and yet without him on-board, everything would have fallen apart by now.

It sickened her as she noticed how selfish she had been towards him. She was using him, like a small child uses a stuffed animal to go to sleep. She had never bothered to care about how Garrus was feeling, only how he made her feel. She had never asked him how his day was, or how he felt about the last mission, or if he needed anything. He was an object to her. A way for her to offload all of her problems and stress into those cool blue eyes, those unfaltering blue eyes.

Garrus had continued walking down the expansive hallway while Shepard panicked inside of her own mind. Drifting to the left, he was heading for a set of four rather large windows, each with a bench for viewing purposes. He normally walked when he was upset, but right now he needed to sit down.

The bad drink, the valet, the coin, the music. _And now this._ It was too much for him. He let his posture slip, just this once, to bend down and put his head in his hands. He _blew it_ as humans said. He failed. He had wanted to spend more time with Shepard, just a little more time than usual, and he couldn't even do that without screwing everything up. He couldn't do anything anymore.

Hopelessness washed back over him, like it did back at the entrance to the nightclub. He was sweating again, shaking, but he didn't cry. He never cried.

A brush at his side.

Shepard had sat down on the bench, next to him. Close to him. Her skirt brushing up against his leg as she leaned over, putting her head at his level. He could feel her eyes training on him. He took his hands off of his head, embarrassed, and crossed them, still resting on his elbows.

He didn't dare look at her, he stared vacantly out the window. He could see the gardens off in the distance.

"You, uhh... You don't like dancing very much, do you? Garrus." Shepard broke the silence.

"No. I don't," Garrus replied, still staring out the window.

Shepard tilted her view to where he was looking. She could see the very tip of the gardens, plants and flowers all blooming out in the middle of a giant artificial hulk of metal, rebelling against the steel walls which they were confined to.

"Why did you accept the invitation? Wrex didn't. Neither did Tali. It's not a big deal, really." Shepard turned her head back towards him, her eyes were filled with warmth and caring, but concern as well.

"I... I wanted to try something different. I..." Garrus gulped, staring at the floor. He didn't have much left to lose at this point anyways. "I wanted to get to know you more. I have known you for a long time now, but I still don't know much about you. You are an excellent commander, and you have taught me things that I would never have learned, had I not met you. I guess I-... I guess I find you, interesting. The most interesting human I have ever met, and I would like to get to know you more. I thought that if I went to the club and had fun, it would..."

"It would what, Garrus?" His eyes darted over to her face, seeing her expression, he sighed and straightened up a bit.

"I thought it would impress you." Shepard was shocked.

"Impress me? Why would you need to impress me? Garrus, you're the most hardworking member of my entire crew. I couldn't be more impressed than I already am." That was the truth, too.

Garrus wasn't saying anything, just looking at Shepard's face. His eyes were darting all over her features, occasionally hitting her eyes before shifting away again.

"Garrus, would you like to go out to lunch with me some time?" Shepard broke the silence with a question, a question she had never thought to ask until moments before, when she received that life altering stare. "I understand if you don't like dancing, that's fine. Not everyone does. I just think it's terrible that you're my best crew member, and I don't really know that much about you. If you don't mind, I'd like to get to know you better as well."

This was not the truth. Shepard was scared of what she might be getting into. She was scared of what may lurk behind those cool blue eyes. She was scared of that horrible life-draining stare as well. She cared about her crew mates, though, and Garrus was no exception. If something was bothering him, it was her job to find out.

Garrus was bewildered. "That, sounds... nice. Commander."

Shepard smiled at his response, grabbing his forearm and motioning back to the elevator. Garrus nodded and stood up with her, walking next to her back towards the lift. They stopped at the entrance to the elevator. Garrus glanced at the staircase beside the elevator.

"I think I'll walk from here, commander."

Shepard nodded at him and smiled. "Meet me at my quarters on the Normandy at... 12:30 tomorrow. Ok? I know a place you might like. They have good food, human and turian."

Garrus cocked his neck towards Shepard. His mild expression had returned, the aura of politeness and respect that tended to follow him had returned. A tint of fear was in his eyes, but they bristled with excitement.

"I'm looking forward to it, Commander."

Shepard chuckled and stepped into the elevator, turning around to face him.

"We're on vacation Garrus. Please, call me Jane." The doors shut, Garrus once again found himself staring at a faceless steel wall. Except this time there was no crowd of human dancers behind him, no horrific nightmares creeping behind his back. Nothing but a staircase, leading down to the presidium, and eventually the Normandy. Where his bed awaited him. Where sleep awaited him.

"Jane..."

--

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**Author Notes:**

**Edit: **With these edits, I'm trying to preserve the 'feel' of the original chapters by editing the actual text as little as possible. I've mostly changed continuity errors, spacing, and grammar, in hopes that they read easier.

**As always:** Review, or be destroyed.


	2. Calm Before the Storm

**Edit: **The second original chapter has been revised, de-cluttered, and hopefully de-suckified.

**Disclaimer:** _I do not own or claim to own any of these characters or settings. They are the sole intellectual property of Bioware, and I am only borrowing them for storytelling purposes._

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**2**

**Calm Before the Storm  
**

Garrus shifted uneasily through his wardrobe. Not one to care about fashion or style, he never put much thought into what he was going to wear for the day. He was beginning to realize that he really didn't have any choice in the matter. He could find nothing in his wardrobe but two pairs of identical civilian clothing, which he never wore, and three different sets of body armor.

He climbed into one of the untouched pairs of civilian clothing. He felt somewhat incomplete, with no layers of metal to cover him.

Turian dress was simple and compact, while not utilitarian. The shirt and matching pants were thin and light, Garrus could barely tell he was wearing them. Hundreds of small designs were delicately weaved into the sides of the fabric, running up and down his arms and legs. His three talons were inserted through a small piece of fabric at the end of each sleeve, covering his palms. Garrus owned several pairs of sandals, but he opted to go barefoot. He was well aware turians had a reputation for being professional and rigid, and he wondered if Shepard would be surprised to see him not in uniform.

_Had she ever seen him out of uniform?_

Turians were rarely seen wearing anything but military armor, especially in the areas around the presidium. To not be in uniform when working was considered highly disrespectful by turians, although since Garrus was not on duty he figured no one would mind.

His ubiquitous half-visor sat on a small pedestal in the back of the closet. Although he found the constant stream of numbers and data it provided him strangely soothing, he decided he could go another day without it.

Waving his arms around a bit to get used to the new feeling, he closed his wardrobe and made for the door. Taking one last look into his room, he flicked off the light switch, and left.

One look. Two looks. He counted the glances he received from every passing technician roaming the halls of the Normandy, each with a mixture of surprise, intrigue, and even revolt. It was tough to tell sometimes, human expressions were all too complex.

He heard their footsteps stop when he passed each one, they had turned to watch the casually-dressed turian walk down the hall. Many humans have probably never seen a turian out of his armor before, though. Garrus himself could only once remember seeing a turian out of uniform anywhere near the presidium, and what would humans be doing in turian wards?

_The same thing turians would be doing in human restaurants._

A human restaurant? Was it that? Shepard had said they served both human and Turian food. Garrus found that hard to believe. The idea of a 'mixed-species' restaurant was strange to him. Turians could not even safely eat human food, and having both prepared in the same restaurant seemed unlikely.

Biology aside, humans and turians were rarely seen in close proximity, anyways. A small tea shop or a bar would see all types of species, but a restaurant? Garrus didn't think that places like that existed on the citadel, or at least, he had never seen them. And he had seen a lot of The Citadel during his days in C-Sec. Humans ate at their restaurants, turians ate at theirs. That's just the way it was.

Garrus rounded the corner and entered the Normandy's equipment hangar. The air in here was fresh, cooler than within the claustrophobic hallways. Garrus shivered slightly, his body not used to being so exposed. He popped his locker open haphazardly, grabbing his radio transceiver and dropping it into his pocket. He slammed the door shut and turned around to walk out.

His left arm instinctively rose up to his forehead and swung downwards. What was this? Momentary confusion, followed by embarrassment, as Garrus remembered that he was not wearing his 'headgear' as Joker so eloquently called it. Maybe he really did need a break in his routine.

He made his way back to the main elevator, calling down the lift and then leaning back on the wall. The turian tapped his foot lightly as the main elevator slid down it's shaft towards the equipment hangar. The doors opened and Garrus stepped inside, punching in the button for the top deck. As the doors slid back together, a human female wearing a snug white jumpsuit rocketed around the corner and slipped between the two doors. She was short, small, and slim. Her hair was a light blonde, it looked fake. Garrus couldn't tell.

"What floor?" Garrus asked, the small girl gasped in shock, pressing the clipboard she held in her hand against her chest. She mustn't have noticed him in the elevator. Strange, considering he was standing right next to her.

"Oh, sorry. Command deck." The girl's eyes were wide, looking over Garrus as she spoke. She seemed to notice her position when her gaze settled on Garrus's eyes, staring sharply back at her. Brushing off her uniform and straightening up, she cleared her throat and blankly stared ahead at the door. She looked nervous. She kept pushing her hair back with her left hand, every few seconds the same exact bang would fall back onto her face. Each time she would tilt her head slightly and tuck the rebellious lock back behind her ear.

She did this seventeen times. Garrus counted.

The doors hissed open and the girl shuffled off, making a sharp left turn down the hallway. Garrus watched her as she entered the first door on the right.

In fact, it was the first door in the entire hallway. Garrus knew this door. This was an interesting door, indeed. It was the door to the janitor's closet.

There was nothing behind that door but a bucket of water, a mop, and some cleaning detergent. He had always wondered if it was a personal joke played on the crew by terminally bored ship designers, to make the door to a closet appear the same as every other door on the ship. There should be something marking a specific door as a closet. Shouldn't there?

She had been trying to get away from him. She was so desperate to escape his gaze that she was now sitting alone in a janitor's closet, unwilling to come out and admit that she had chosen this door at random. Alone, with the bucket of water, the mop, and the cleaning detergent. She must not be familiar with the layout of the ship, as every crew member had made that mistake at some point.

Garrus wanted to laugh, but couldn't bring himself to. Was a turian not in uniform really _that_ shocking? That unsettling? He was beginning to wonder what Shepard would think. Would she mind? Should he go back and change? He scanned the walls for a clock.

12:24.

No time.

He spun back on his heel and started making his way towards Shepard's quarters. Away from the nervous blond human, cowering alone in the janitor's closet, listening for his footsteps. He received a few more odd looks, this time from crew mates he recognized. None of them as overt as the ones he was receiving on the lower deck. Maybe he was just overreacting.

He passed two men in white jumpsuits, who both acted as if they had never seen a turian before. Who were these people all over the ship in white uniforms? Garrus didn't recognize any of them in the least. _Alliance inspectors, _he thought.

It wasn't long until he arrived at Shepard's door. Two minutes, to be exact. Garrus panicked, standing in place outside of her door, his hand outstretched and ready to knock.

Shepard had _specifically_ told him to meet her at her quarters at 12:30, not 12:26. Garrus was familiar with the human concept of being 'fashionably late'. He wondered if one could be 'fashionably early', as well. Would she be angry? Does it even matter? Not much can happen in four minutes, can it? Maybe she was putting 'makeup' on, and knocking on the door would disrupt her routine. Garrus didn't want to ruin Shepard's routine. Of course, he didn't particularly like makeup, either.

Garrus gently rapped on Shepard's door, it had been a very long four minutes.

"Come in!" Shepard's voice came from inside, she sounded distracted. The door slid open, revealing a small hallway leading to a decently-sized room. Not large, not expansive, just... quarters were smaller than Garrus had expected, tales of the illustrious captain's quarters were common on the Normandy.

On his left was a doorway, leading to a bathroom. He stepped into the main room, his hands held politely behind his back. The air was fresh, reflecting the organized and neat decor of the room. Garrus searched around the room for a possible flaw, he couldn't find one. Everything seemed perfectly in place. The center table lacked dust, there were no pieces of clothing laying on the floor. The flowers sitting in a vase all leaned in symmetrical positions, as if someone had spent hours meticulously placing them there. Garrus was impressed.

To his right was another room, even smaller than the first. He could see the end of a bed, and a crumpled-up sock laying at the base of it. Another, and another. Now there was a shirt as well. Garrus could hear cabinets being opened and closed, and the occasional moan of frustration as more laundry was catapulted over the bed and onto the once-clean carpet floor. He stepped slowly into the secondary room, seeing a rather disgruntled Shepard tearing through her drawers.

"Shepard?" Garrus said politely. She didn't seem to notice. He repeated himself, a bit louder this time, clearing his throat. She turned around with a smile, her bangs clouding her face. No makeup.

"Oh, hello Garrus, sorry I—whoa..." Her eyes widened as she looked him over, tracing the small blue designs that ran up and down his arms. She cleared her throat and continued. "Sorry. I lost my wallet, I'm trying to find it. I've looked everywhere, though." She was still staring at him, her eyes washing over the light brown fabric.

Surprised, but not appalled. That was a good start.

"It's alright, Shepard, I'll pay."

She sighed, closing the drawer. She took a quick look under her bed, and then turned around to face Garrus, still on her knees. She was holding a single pink sock in her hand.

"Are you sure? I did invite you after all."

"Yes, yes. It's fine." Garrus looked around the floor, flicking a stray pair of pants away with his foot. Shepard stood up, brushing her bangs out of her eyes. She had jeans on, with a small blue coat covering a white undershirt.

"Okay then, but I will pay you back some time. I promise." She ended with a smile. "You look nice, by the way."

Garrus stared at her for a moment. "Should we get going?" He motioned towards the door with his hand.

Shepard walked past Garrus and into the main room. "Yes we should. It's a bit of a walk, and I'm already hungry."

--

It was a 'bit of a walk'. A bit of walking. Thirty-two minutes of walking. Was it thirty-two? Shepard silently led the way to the restaurant, and Garrus counted time to occupy himself. He was very good at it.

Thirty-three minutes of walking. Garrus had never seen this part of the Citadel, why had he not been here before? After all those years in C-Sec, he was sure he had seen everything. Why had he not seen this ward, this building? How had he missed this_? _

Shepard had stopped outside of a moderately sized building, with clean-cut concrete corners and a very minimalist appearance altogether. There was a single door, flanked on each side by a bouncer, one human and one turian.

The logo above the door, possibly the only thing keeping this particular building from being a gigantic concrete box, resembled a human 'Yin-Yang' as Garrus remembered they were called. Upon closer inspection, the top dot was actually a picture of the human homeworld, Earth. The bottom dot was a picture of the turian home world, Palaven. Underneath the peculiar logo was a line of nondescript metal letters, each spaced about a foot apart. They read, "Concord".

Shepard turned and gave Garrus a warm smile.

"I advise you not take anything too seriously in this place." She motioned towards the entrance. "It's very... tongue-in-cheek. Food is good, though."

Shepard turned and started towards the entrance, her hips swaying with each step.

_Tongue... in... cheek? _

Garrus did not know this expression. He thought about the phrase for a few moments, trying to remember it being said. Nothing. He shifted his tongue to the left of his mouth, pushing up against the fleshy wall. Still nothing. Perhaps if someone punches you hard enough your tongue becomes lodged in your cheek? No, that wasn't right. Shepard wouldn't take him to a place where he would be punched in the face. Would she?

_Maybe, it describes your reaction to the taste of the fo-_

"Garrus!" Shepard stood in front the main entrance. The bouncers had not moved. Garrus strode up to the door, eying the two of them curiously. They were each dressed in human tuxedos, wearing small circular black sunglasses. The turian looked rather silly, he didn't seem to mind. He didn't really seem to do anything, in fact. Neither of them did. Garrus turned his head towards Shepard.

"Sorry, commander. Just... thinking, is all." Garrus had inadvertently stepped on the entrance's pressure plate, sliding the door open.

Shepard gave Garrus a puzzled look, then turned and walked through the doorway. She was immediately greeted by a very slim male human, with dark brown hair and a small diamond earring that seemed to enjoy shining in Garrus's face. The man was wearing the same type of tuxedo as the two bouncers. His sunglasses were pushed back onto his forehead, scrunching his bangs up and over the small black lenses.

"Hello and welcome to Concord, how many?" He looked to Garrus from Shepard, and then back again. The man squinted slightly, then relaxed, hiding his expression from Shepard. Garrus noticed.

"Two." Shepard shifted a bit closer to the man, leaning over the small pedestal where the menus were kept. "And, if it's not too much trouble, can we have a... _quiet_, seat? One that's, you know, out of the way?" The man squinted again.

"Sure. Right this way." He turned and surveyed the restaurant quickly, looking for an open seat.

The restaurant had a very modern appearance to it, the tables were angular and compact, each section of the restaurant was separated by a wall of distorted glass. Almost everything was gray of some sort, and the lights were all different shades of blue. There was a circular bar in the middle of the building. Every waiter, male or female, turian or human, was dressed in the same matching tuxedo. The waiter started walking down towards a corner of the restaurant and Shepard followed him. Garrus stayed close behind, glancing at the restaurant's varied patrons.

Humans and turians. Nothing but humans and turians. They were everywhere, talking, eating, laughing.

The waiter halted at a small two-person tabled tucked away behind the entrance to the bathroom. He stepped out of the way, letting Garrus slide into the seat opposing Shepard, who had already sat down. She immediately took the napkin off of the tabletop and spread it over her lap. Garrus thought it a bit strange at first but decided to do the same. He was not familiar with human table manners and didn't feel like taking any risks. The waiter laid two rectangular menus down on the table, each carrying the same logo as the restaurant.

"Your server will be right with you," he said, turning and scurrying over to another table. Shepard grabbed a menu and slid one over to Garrus, opening hers and spreading it out in front of her.

"The blue side is all turian food, Garrus. The red side is human food. I'm fairly sure that the drinks—" She pointed towards the small gray section that ran across the entirety of both pages. "—are mixed together."

Garrus followed Shepard's narration with his eyes, when a thought clicked in his mind.

"Strange..." Garrus turned the menu over in his hands, eying the logo branded onto it's leather exterior. Shepard looked up from her menu.

"What is?"

"The menus, they aren't electronic." Garrus flipped his back over, running his hand over the smooth laminate. This was strange, indeed.

Shepard made a sound that can only be described as, _'Hmmph' _and looked back down at her menu. Garrus eyed her carefully, watching her trace the words along the page with her index finger. She was perfectly capable of reading the menu without doing that, why did she bother? Garrus decided to mimic her, resting his elbow on the table and underlining each line of text with his talon. It didn't take long for Garrus to decide what he wanted, so he leaned back into his cushioned seat, folding the menu shut. His eyes started to wander around the small booth they had been assigned.

It didn't get much more 'out of the way' than this. They were stuffed into the tightest corner of the restaurant. The architects hadn't even bothered to place a light directly over the table. The single lamp on the wall next to them seemed as if it was hastily drilled into the wall after the building was finished, as soon as someone noticed that this table didn't have a light source. The lighting certainly reflected their position in the restaurant; away from the bar, the music, the laughter.

Garrus traced the small swirling lines inside the table's marble with his talon, reaching a small box containing various condiments. There was a small message etched into the side of the box, written in pen, it read: 'Fuck Pallin'.

"Hi, I'm Brandie. I'll be your waiter today. Can I start you two off with some drinks?" The words came from a small human female standing next to their table, with dark brown hair and a tan roughly equivalent to that which can be achieved by spending twenty-four hours submerged in liquid hot magma.

"Yes, I'll have a Shirley Temple." Shepard spoke up first. Garrus had opened his mouth to speak, but froze, a new idea entering his mind. Garrus was going to order tea, as always, but this was his day to try new things and take risks.

Take risks. The idea itself sounded ridiculous to Garrus, and like many things his C-Sec counselor had told him, he had completely ignored the suggestion and branded it as mindless drivel. Considering he was already inadvertently taking his advice by trying to 'meet new people', he figured he might as well at least attempt his therapist's other suggestions. And thus, the result of several months of counseling followed by a single split-second decision:

"I'll have one as well." Garrus stared politely, if such a thing is possible, at the human waitress.

"Alright then." She scribbled something down on her notepad. "Any appetizers to get you started?" Garrus looked at Shepard, asking a wordless question. Her eyes jumped from Garrus back down to her menu, to Garrus, then finally up to the waitress.

"I guess I'll have the potato skins," Shepard said, her eyes swinging back towards Garrus. "You want anything?"

"No thank you, I'm fine." Garrus wondered what potato skins were.

"Alright then, two Shirley Temples... and some potato skins." There she was, scribbling more things down onto that notepad of hers. Garrus wondered what she was writing, or if she was even writing anything. No one could _possibly_ write that fast. "I'll be back with your drinks in a minute."

Silence. He hated silence. He hated the alternative even more.

"So, Garrus..." Shepard trailed off. Interesting, how easily one can start talking without actually knowing what they planned to talk about. "You like Shirley Temples?"

"Well..." Garrus tapped his talons lightly on the table. Shepard flashed him a quick smile.

"Never had one before, right?"

"No," he responded. Shepard had figured that was a good place to start conversation. A decent place, at least. As long as you have to force conversation, there is never a good place to start.

"Well, it's a bit of a... _'girly',_ drink." Shepard stifled a small laugh as she watched Garrus flinch. Twiddling his talons together in an awkward display, as he stared blankly towards Shepard. He stared everywhere, the table, the ceiling, her mouth, but not her eyes. Never her eyes.

"I was only kidding, Garrus. It's a fruity drink. Tastes like cherries." It occurred to Shepard that Garrus might not know what cherries are. She wasn't sure if she wanted to explain it to him, or wait and see if he knew.

"Oh."

He said nothing more. His stare weakened, eyes darting around the table, trying to find something to latch on to. He sat there, twiddling his fingers, mandibles tensing up and releasing. His eyes finally stopped searching the table, finding nothing. He stopped twiddling his thumbs and started nervously tapping on the table, his eyes settling back on Shepard. She couldn't tell what he was staring at, or if he was staring at anything. It was almost as if he was staring _through_ her.

His eyes glistened in the dim light, but they were filled with fear. They weren't darting around, but they were shivering, twitching. Finally, he clamped them shut, his facial muscles tightening.

"Here we are." Brandie was back. Holding two glasses filled with a light red liquid, each bearing a small cherry on top. "Are you two ready to order, or do you need more time?"

Shepard looked towards Garrus, his eyes were still closed, his hands systematically clenching into fists, before loosening again. The waitress placed the two drinks down on the table, shooting Garrus a puzzled glance.

"Yes, we're still deciding." Shepard waved the young girl off and turned her attention back to the silent turian, his eyes still closed, breathing heavily through his nose.

Silence. A minute passed.

"Garrus... your... drink is here." Shepard stuttered. He was scaring her, and she wanted him to stop. He lifted his eyelids, staring bitterly at the glass.

"I..." He start to speak, but stopped. His eyes closed again.

"Garrus." No answer.

"_Garrus!"_ Shepard hissed, touching his talon lightly with her fingers.

He instantly recoiled, groaning slightly, placing his hands on his forehead and clamping his eyes down again, tighter this time. He stayed like that. Shepard didn't know what to say. She didn't know what to _do_. This wasn't conversation. This wasn't lunch. This wasn't vacation. This wasn't anything. She wanted to call out to him. She wanted him out of this trance, she wanted him to speak.

She wanted to know what was wrong. She wanted those cool blue eyes back. She wanted them back, now. Shepard felt the memory of the stare creeping back into her mind. That anger, that hate. Those eyes. It was cynical, depressed...

_Psychotic._

He took his hands off of his forehead and snatched his drink off of the table, shoving the straw awkwardly into his mouth and taking a large swill of the fruity mix. He slammed it back onto the table, resting his other elbow down on the tabletop and shoving his forehead into his palm. He had beads of sweat running down his face. His eyes lifted slightly, blue orbs unconsciously begging Shepard for help. They had such a strange mix of sorrow, embarrassment, and anger within them.

"Garrus, are you going to be alright?"

No answer, he pressed his fist down onto the table again, clamping his eyes shut and turning his head away from Shepard. They were starting to attract a few odd looks from the tables around them. Shepard had no idea what was wrong. She was just trying to make smalltalk, and he was completely breaking down.

"Do you want to leave?"

He didn't respond. The sound of a plate breaking was heard across the restaurant, it startled Garrus. He lurched forward a bit, before sinking back into his booth, sweating harder than before. Still no answer.

"Okay, I'll ask the waitress for the bill when she comes back." Shepard tried to get him to look at her, but he refused to open his eyes.

"No! Don't, stay... fine... me." Garrus struggled to form a sentence. Brandie came back right on time, holding a plate of steaming potato skins. She laid the plate down gently on the table, and pulled her notepad out of her pocket.

"Here we are. Can I take your or-"

"I'm sorry, but can I have the bill? My friend here isn't feeling well." Garrus inhaled abruptly at this.

"I'm fine!" He startled Shepard with his sudden outburst. A short period of silence followed. "Sorry, I just had a... headache, is all." He straightened up in his chair, interlocking his talons. His eyes darted nervously back and forth between the two women.

"Are you sure?" Shepard asked, trying not to sound too concerned. The waitress was already giving them some strange looks.

"Yes," he said, calmly.

Shepard wasn't anywhere near convinced, but if he really was... unstable—and Shepard was beginning to think he was—she figured it was best not to make him angry. If he says he's fine, he's fine.

"So... Are you both ready to order?" Brandie tapped her notepad lightly with her pencil. Jane stared at Garrus for a few moments, searching his eyes.

"Yes, I am at least... Garrus?"

"I'm ready." He started twiddling his thumbs again.

"Alright then, I'll have the salmon." Shepard went first.

"Easy enough, and you?" She turned towards Garrus. Her hand clasped the pencil, keeping it posed above the notepad, waiting to strike.

Garrus fumbled for his menu, pointing at something as Brandie leaned to see what he meant. "What exactly is this?"

"Oh, that." She smiled. "It's one of our specials, a Turian-style hamburger. You know, meat, two buns?"

"I suppose I'll have that, then." He folded up his menu and offered it to her, mimicking Shepard.

He mimicked at lot of things. He mimicked everything, it often felt like. He sometimes wondered if the world was nothing but his own personal instruction manual, and that everyone and everything around him was just a series of carefully illustrated diagrams for him to follow.

Brandie took both of their menus and walked off, leaving the two of them to sit silently underneath the dim light of a single lamp.

"What was that all about?" Shepard awkwardly broke the silence. That didn't come out like she wanted it to.

"A headache. Same as last night, I... think I'm getting sick."

_Headache my ass._

"Oh, alright." Shepard played with her straw, flicking it back and forth before leaning down to take a sip.

Cherries, sweet cherries, and her favorite drink. Garrus snatched up his glass and took another swill from the straw. The glass was already half empty. He drew his hand back and inspected the glass, peering through the condensation at the cherry lodged between several clusters of ice cubes.

"It's sweet."

"You like it?" Shepard looked up at him, watching him turn the glass around in his hand. He pondered the question for a moment.

"Yes, I do."

The answer was firm. His eyes were not focused on Shepard, but she could tell that their warmth was returning. Shepard decided it was time for round two of small talk to begin.

"I love Shirley Temples... My mom used to make them for me, every time I would see her."

Shepard had stepped into the ring. And in the opposite corner:

"Your mother would mix you drinks?" Shepard pulled herself out of her memories, glad that he had responded. A question, but a response nonetheless.

"Yes, well... She was a bartender, back on Earth." Shepard smiled weakly, taking a small sip directly from the glass. Garrus did the same, following up with another question.

"I thought your parents were in the military?"

"My father was, my mother lived on Earth." She paused. "Earth. Ugly place, really. Most of what I remember was smoke, metal... sadness. My mother was an exception, everywhere she went seemed to brighten up. She had a certain aura of happiness around her, I'll give her that. After she died..." Shepard trailed off. Garrus seized the opportunity to try and change the subject.

"Odd, most humans I have talked to seem to hold Earth in a much higher esteem. I have been told that the geography and wildlife is quite breathtaking." Shepard laughed under her breath, silently thanked Garrus for peeling off course. She wondered if he consciously did that or if he really just wanted to know more about Earth. Either way she was grateful.

"It is... but not everywhere. Not where I lived, at least. The only people that can afford to live outside of the megacities are rich CEOs." Shepard sipped her drink, keeping her eyes on Garrus all the while. She smiled and chuckled suddenly. "I had my own little piece of 'geography'. I remember, at my old school; we used to have a tree where all the kids would go out and play during recess. Once I hit high-school, we would hang around near it whenever school was out."

"_A_... tree?" Garrus's face contorted. "A single tree?"

"It may not mean much to you, but that tree was our little beacon of hope. Hope that we might actually get out of there some day." Her smile faded, replaced with a bitter smirk. "And not just end up a cybernetics-laden corpse on the side of the road, or a hooker, or worse."

Shepard started playing around with her straw, flicking it back and forth. Garrus took this as a hint that it was his turn to speak.

"You seem to have done well for yourself, Shepard." A nervous compliment. Garrus wasn't sure how to react. Shepard seemed to be laughing at her own misfortune. Humans could be strange creatures indeed.

"My father did well for me, really. When my mother died, he came and took me along with him. Got me out of the city and into alliance space. Not much better than the northwestern megalopolis as far as conditions go, but there is a lot more in the way of opportunities." Shepard remembered the plate of potato skins, now barely steaming. She grabbed one and took a sizable bite, chewing it slowly as she stared blankly back at Garrus. "I doubt most of my old friends were as lucky. All that crap they used to feed us about 'getting a real career' and 'moving to a better place' if you work hard enough... I used to believe it, too. It's all lies. Chances are half of them are either dead now, or living in some shit-hole bunker dug into the side of a project, wasting away their nervous system with hallucinogens until some runner comes in and puts a bullet into their skull. I tell you, if not for my father, that would've been me, too."

Shepard shook her head, taking another bite of the potato skin.

Garrus was genuinely interested, a rarity for him. It was not often he got to talk with people, even less often that he cared about the topic of conversation. He wanted to know more about how 'city life' was back on Earth, but Shepard seemed to be sweating at the mention of it. He didn't blame her. Perhaps he would ask her more later. And so, he turned the conversation to her parents.

"So your father convinced you to join the military?"

Shepard finished the last of the potato skin, licking her fingers as she thought about the question. An odd human gesture that should be revolting, Garrus found it strangely arousing.

"Well, he didn't _convince_ me to join. When he died, I didn't really have anywhere else to go. His shipmates offered to take me on-board. I agreed. Hell, they were the closest thing to family I had. What about you?" Images of last night flooded Shepard's mind. "I mean, if you feel comfortable talking about it."

Shepard cringed, she had made a note last night to avoid talking about Garrus's family. She didn't even make it one day.

"I, urhm..." Garrus stopped.

_Shit._

"Well, my father got me into C-Sec..." A small sigh of relief came from Shepard. Garrus didn't notice. "He kept me in it, too. I never knew my mother, she died in birth."

"You grew up on Palaven, right?" Shepard tried to pay him the same respect, avoiding painful memories.

"Yes." Shepard reached for another potato skin. Garrus tracked the snack with his eyes, taking a small sip of his beverage.

_Must be getting hungry,_ Shepard figured.

"Tell me about it. I mean, what was it like? On Palaven. I don't know much about the turian home world."

"Hot. Too hot. A lot of vegetation... I lived in a nice neighborhood. Family friends raised me, my father was always on The Citadel. Not much else to say." There wasn't much else to say. Garrus felt that his childhood was wholly uninteresting.

No city. No drugs. No tree.

Silence followed, a comfortable silence. Garrus was relieved that he had actually managed to hold a conversation with someone for more than twenty seconds. Two minutes and thirteen seconds, actually. He had been counting.

Fifteen minutes, fifty-four seconds and two Shirley Temples later, Brandie was back at their table.

"Here we are..." Her hands leveled down with the table, sliding a plate in front of each of them. "Enjoy your meal. If you need anything just wave me down."

"Thank you." Shepard nodded to the girl and folded her hands on the table. Garrus's plate had something on it vaguely resembling a hamburger, except that the burger itself was a dark shade of blue and the bun seemed to be a mixture of orange and red. The texture was nothing short of revolting to Shepard, both bun and burger seemed to be made of a viscous gel. "How does it look?" She spoke, watching Garrus prod the colorful arrangement with his finger.

"Tough to tell."

Shepard chuckled. "Looks disgusting."

"I could say the same for you." Garrus motioned towards Shepard's plate. Smirking, she speared a small piece of salmon with her fork.

"Together, then?" Garrus raised his brow. He realized what she meant and nodded, picking up the burger.

"Fine." He chomped down a sizable bite, as Shepard shoved the piece of salmon into her mouth.

They sat and stared at each other, chewing silently. Garrus swallowed first. "It's... not bad, actually. How's yours?"

"Good, as always."

"I take it you've been here before?" Garrus took another bite.

"Mhmf...yes." Shepard talked through a mouthful of salmon, pausing to swallow. "A few times now. Since we started getting more and more non-humans on the Normandy, I figured I should try and spend more time around the different races. A turian contact of mine recommended this place."

"Bit of a strange place, isn't it?"

She laughed, pushing a piece of salmon around with her fork. "Yeah, it is. It's a step in the right direction, though. There's still a lot of animosity out there, between our species." Garrus was busy chewing, so Shepard continued. "I always figured it's best to judge by the man. For the shining example of unity and brotherhood in the universe, there certainly is a lot of hate on this station."

"I wish that I could say C-Sec was fighting to stop it, but I'd be lying." Garrus put his burger down and wiped his mouth quickly with a napkin. "Rules, regulations, they aren't very personal things, you see."

Shepard nodded solemnly. "You ever think of going back?"

"Not anymore, no." His eyes wandered, rapping on the table lightly with his talons. He reached for his Shirley Temple, seeing the glass empty, but he tried to vacuum the last remaining drops off the bottom of the glass with his straw. Shepard watched as he placed the glass back down on it's coaster, dissatisfied.

"Can I have your cherry?"

"Excuse me?"

"Your cherry—" Shepard pointed to his empty glass. "—do you want it?"

"Oh, you can have it." Garrus pushed his glass over to Shepard.

She took her straw and wrestled with the cherry's stem, eventually lodging it into the straw. She then lifted the cherry out of the glass, slipping it into her mouth and pulling the stem away. Her eyes closed as she chewed on the small piece of fruit, a smile on her face. _The best part of any Shirley Temple,_ Shepard thought.

"Thank you," she said.

"No problem. I can't digest it anyways." Garrus hadn't intended to be humorous, but Shepard chuckled and opened her eyes.

"Then you're really missing out."

"I'd imagine so."

Out of nowhere Brandie appeared besides their table, leaning on her toes, back straight.

"Uhm... very sorry to bother you two." She held her notepad up to her chest. "Are you Commander Shepard?"

Shepard sighed softly. "Yes. I am."

"This is going to sound strange, but... Can I have your autograph?"

--

"Enjoy your lunch Garrus?"

"Lunch? Seemed more like a book signing to me." Garrus turned and twisted his mandibles into a smile.

"I know... I'm sorry. Word has spread about the Spectre status, tough to go anywhere now without someone noticing me." Shepard walked beside Garrus, through the gardens of the presidium. They had been walking for a while now, admiring the flowers.

"Yes, I did enjoy it. Thank you for inviting me."

"Thanks for paying." Shepard gave him a playful jab in the arm, coupled with a wink.

"It means a lot to me, Shepard. I... I don't get out much."

"No problem, Garrus. Although, do you mind if I ask you a question?"

Shepard crossed her fingers behind her back. After getting past initial troubles with Garrus, the rest of their lunch had been nothing short of flawless. Garrus was not a talkative person by nature, but he listened to her, offered insight where necessary, even joked a few times. And yet, every time the conversation stopped, every moment of silence, that stare lingered in her mind. As much as she enjoyed the meal she remembered that she had a job to do. She had to find out what was going on with Garrus, and the only way to do that was to ask him.

He seemed apprehensive, but he agreed. "Sure... shoot me."

"Shoot, Garrus. It's just, 'shoot'."

"Ahh, thank you. I'll remember that, could have been disastrous in the wrong situation."

Shepard laughed, glad that he was in a good mood. "Shortly after we first sat down, you put your head in your hands. You wouldn't speak, you seemed... well, to be honest Garrus. You seemed pretty distressed. I don't think that was a headache, Garrus. Was... something wrong?"

His smile faded. He responded quickly, though. "I get nervous, sometimes. I've never been very good with people, Shepard. Quite honestly I'm surprised you invited me to lunch... I don't think I've ever been personally invited to dine with someone before... well... I'd prefer not to talk about it, if you don't mind."

"That's alright Garrus. That's all I wanted to know."

She was glad he had responded, it meant she was making progress. They walked on, passing by hundreds upon hundreds of different types of flora. The reached a lake, where Garrus stopped and leaned over the railing, resting on his elbows. Shepard did the same.

"You know, Shepard. This was nice, today. Would you like to... do it again, sometime? Maybe?"

"Vacation's basically over, Garrus. We leave in two days and I'm going to be busy preparing the ship for the lot of 'em." Shepard twirled her finger around the metal of the railing, tracing designs into the steel.

"I know. I don't mean going out to a restaurant or walking through the presidium. I just mean..." Shepard turned to face him.

"Mmm?"

"I just mean, would you like to maybe spend time together. On the Normandy, anywhere, really. Lunch, dinner, I don't care..."

"Sure, Garrus." Shepard blushed, she hoped Garrus wouldn't notice. He didn't.

They stayed like that for a while, leaning over the railing, watching the calm waves ripple against the artificial shoreline, listening to the birds chirp and sing as they fluttered around the gardens. Garrus smiled, thinking that he had finally found his antidote. That she was the solution to all his problems.

He didn't know why, but when he was around her, he could think. He could reason. He could relax.

Shepard smiled, feeling accomplished. She thought she was done, that all Garrus needed was a friend. Someone to talk to. Someone to relate to, even. And so they stood, smiling, basking in the warmth of the presidium. This was a calm. A certain lack of tension, a rarity in any soldier's life. A time where one could sit back, rest, and hope that _maybe_, just maybe, things will turn out alright.

A storm was coming.

* * *

**Edit: **Super duper revised chapter number 2. This had tons of grammatical errors in it, but other than that, I altered very little. At first I thought it was too bright, but then I remembered this was supposed to be a prologue of sorts to the actual _plot_, which has nothing to do with a vacation.


	3. Nodin

**Edit: **Yup, chapter 3 has been revised, re-revised, de-clutterified and de-suckified like the others. One more to go.

**Disclaimer:** _I do not own or claim to own any of these characters or settings. They are the sole intellectual property of Bioware, and I am only borrowing them for storytelling purposes. I do, however, own any original characters I have created. Ask before writing slashfics about them, please.  
_

* * *

**3**

**Nodin  
**

The halls of The Normandy were deserted and lifeless. The air hung dormant, dust particles illuminated in their suspension by the dim glow of The Normandy's auxiliary lighting systems.

The silence was broken by the occasional snore, or the creak of someone's bed bunk. This particular room had no snoring. No creaking. No blueish glow of a muted television. Just a lone turian, lying on his back, the covers of his bed raised up and down by the expansions of his chest. He didn't stir as the door to his room noiselessly slid open, a small figure slipping inside.

He felt a light touch, soft slender fingers running up his forearm, tracing the lines and crevices his shoulder. He was awake in an instant, panic subsiding as the caresses continued to his collarbone.

Soft, wet lips trailed up his neck, an unfamiliar sensation to any turian. His eyes rolled back into his head, he suppressed a moan. The lips continued their journey upwards, suckling a mandible gently, trailing over his cheekbones to his mouth, a cool breeze of air with each breath. A kiss was planted. Fragile, feathery lips impacted a hardened exoskeleton. He wished he could return the favor.

He groped outwards with his hands, meeting slender hips, and pulled, dragging the figure on top of him. She wrestled her tongue into his mouth, pressing her breasts against his chest.

Garrus stopped thinking. He stopped worrying. He almost stopped breathing, his heart was pounding into his chest cavity like a jackhammer.

He tilted his head, avoiding the figure's lips, licking down her neck. Her sweat, it felt like a drug. His head was spinning. Drawing his hands back, he pushed her up off of his chest, grabbing her back and cradling her so that she sat on his thighs. He reached a hand out to his bed, turning a dial, filling the room with a warm ambiance. Barely any light, but enough to see the beige hue of human skin.

He ran his hands up her shirt, skimming over her breasts, one talon getting caught on a rough name tag. 'Shepard', it read.

She moaned, yanking the zipper down and shrugging out of the shirt, tossing it aside the bed. Her mouth was back on him again, tongue penetrating his hard beak, swashing over the slick walls within. He growled into her mouth, a fire building in his loins, grabbing her hips and rolling over, putting pressure on her stomach.

She moaned again, pulling his head down to her chest, as he frantically stripped off her pants, grinding his hips into hers. He leaned down, resting his forehead between her breasts, massaging up and down her stomach with his cold talons. What followed was a blur. Silence was broken by the sounds of flesh sliding on flesh, the creaking of the bed, the moans and hisses of the pair as they wrestled with each other, battling back and forth for control. Clothes littered the room now, Shepard arched her back, twisting and turning, as Garrus ground himself against her repeatedly.

He grabbed her left leg, using his other hand to press down on her stomach, keeping her in place. Leaning forward, putting his face inches from hers, he hissed, closing his eyes as she pressed her lips to his. His pace picked up, he pressed down on her chest with his elbow, pinning her to the bed. She whimpered and moaned at the new sensation, Garrus growled and continued to go faster. He let go of her leg with his other hand, using it to roughly massage her stomach, pressing down with each thrust.

He lost control of himself, his vision faded, he was floating. Where was he now?

Heat, trailing up his back, sweat burning holes into his shoulders. He bucked autonomously now, barely aware that there was another person beneath him.

Minutes passed. The pace slowed. The heat faded. Sweat dripped down his back, running over smooth scales. He could feel he was grasping something in his off hand, but he was not sure what it was. Probably a piece of clothing, he figured, dropping it onto the mattress. He propped himself up with his off hand, and took his elbow off of Shepard's chest. When he started to stretch, he noticed something on his right arm. A stain, was it? He pulled his forearm to his front, turning it over to get a better look.

Red. Dark, thick, and red. He turned to Shepard, still underneath him. Still encasing him. Her eyes were open, glazed, and motionless. Her mouth hung slightly, twisted in what looked like a moan.

A knife.

It was near his left hand. Reclining on the mattress. It basked in the afterglow, bathing in a pool of fresh blood. He saw the flat plane of Shepard's stomach, riddled with holes and sickening lacerations. Each one oozing more of the thick red substance onto the mattress.

He lowered his hand down to her stomach, catching some of the stuff on his fingers, rubbing it around her belly. Garrus pressed down, the fluids bubbled upwards, seeping out of the gaping wounds, flowing down the side of her torso. Smiling, he brought his arm back up, extending a finger, coated in red. He sniffed. Slowly, he drew the digit up. Pushing it into his mouth, licking it clean...

Darkness. The steel ceiling. The ruffled bedsheets. A cool breeze drifted in from the ventilator. Drenched in sweat, he leaned up, clutching his arm to his chest. His heart was pounding in his head, his veins struggling to keep up with the torrential blood flow. The floor vibrated with a gentle hum. The walls creaked and hissed. They were still on the ground. To his right, an alarm clock, reading: 3:54. Sighing, Garrus fell back down onto his pillow.

Another dream.

--

"You need me to do what?"

Shepard was silhouetted against the blue glow of the council's transmission screen, her knees were locked in position, her hands held politely behind her back. She had not slept much at all, the ship's prep crew had been busy reading off diagnostics to her last night. This morning, her veins were busy carrying caffeine around her body instead of blood.

Her hair was branching in every direction, her uniform was wrinkled and loose, but her eyes were alert and attentive. The council had contacted her with what they toted as an 'urgent mission', and was briefing her on the situation.

"Commander Shepard, we do _not_ assign missions to Spectres lightly. You would not be receiving this if we did not believe that every ounce of your expertise was required to complete the task." The salarian went silent, the turian picking up where he left off. "This mission was not intended for you, but you are the only available unit in the area. This is incredibly urgent, Shepard, every passing moment counts."

"Acknowledged. Commander Shepard out—" Shepard reached forward to terminate the transmission, but the Salarian council member protested.

"Shepard, the case files we sent you are highly classified, show them to no one but your core crew members. As we are coming out of an information blackout, we need to take any leads we can get. Depart as soon as possible, if you wait too long we may miss our only chance to apprehend this criminal."

Shepard looked puzzled.

"Apprehend? You require him alive?"

"You are authorized to defend yourself if necessary, but it is imperative that the target be brought back alive. Lethal force is _not_ authorized under any circumstance. Do you understand?"

"I understand. Commander Shepard out." The transmission faded into static, Shepard turned and walked to the bow of the ship.

She sat down in Joker's chair, lazily pressing down the button labeled 'INTERCOM'. A few beeping noises were heard, a solid red light flicked on.

"This is Commander Shepard... There will be a mandatory crew meeting in the mess hall in fifteen minutes. I need all clearance level five personnel up here, asap."

--

The shore team and supporting crew shambled into the dining hall, large circular bags lining their eyes. Grunts and moans were exchanged instead of words. Coffee was sucked down in between yawns and awkward stretches. Garrus was the last one to the deck, after Wrex. He threw himself into a chair next to Ashley. She didn't particularly like Garrus, but she was too tired to care. Kaidan offered Garrus a cup of coffee, which he turned down. Leaning over and putting his face in his hands, Garrus yawned.

"You look like shit," Shepard said, throwing a stack of papers down onto the table. He finished yawning and blinked a few times.

"Is that good?"

"No, Garrus." Joker wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. "Although, join the club. We all look like shit. What the hell are we doing up at 5:30, 'Shep?"

"Don't call me that. I have you all up so early," she checked her watch, "because the- Wait, _early_? 5:30 is early now? What is this, nursery school?" She took a cursory glance around the table. Tali seemed to be the only one at attention. Shepard threw her hands up in frustration. "Jesus Christ! I told you guys we were leaving today. You were _all_ supposed to be ready!"

She sat down at the helm of the table, sighing, while the crew collectively rubbed the backs of their heads.

"Well, I wasn't _that_ drunk."

"Yeah, you tell 'em Shepard... Sleep, tired... Mmmpfh. Huh-"

"I, uhh-.. got lost in the presidium."

"I don't give a damn."

"Bad dream."

"The ship's rudder broke. Had to fix it."

A pause.

"This is a spaceship, Joker. It doesn't have a rudder." Shepard massaged her temples, taking a sip of the coffee that was offered to her.

"Dammit Shepard, would you mind telling us what we are doing up here so early?" Alenko chimed in, followed by a few concurrent mumbles from the rest of the crew.

Shepard rolled her eyes at this and pushed the stack of folders she was carrying into the middle of the table.

"There's one for each of you. Case files." Tali reached out and grabbed one for herself. After a few moments of stillness, she groaned and started individually passing them to the crew.

"Case files on what?" Liara asked, accepting the folder that Tali offered her.

"New target." Silence followed. Tali was holding a folder in front of Alenko, who was ignoring it, his head turned towards Shepard, mouth agape.

"What?" Wrex blurted out.

Suddenly, the conversational glass window that every other crew member was leaning on, shattered. Shepard was bombarded with an onslaught of questions, expletives, pleas, and even threats. She sat up in her chair and placed her hands on the table for support.

"Our primary mission is _still_ to track down Saren. The council is just searching for leads on his next move, because at the moment, we have none. In the meantime, they called upon us to deal with this guy." She tapped the folder laying in front of her. No one spoke, so Shepard continued. "Name's Nodin Aryik. He was spotted on The Citadel recently."

Garrus opened his folder and started skimming through the pages.

Joker was the first to speak. "So, what? They called a Spectre in to chase some random fugitive? Shouldn't C-Sec be on this?"

"I haven't read into the details yet, Joker." Shepard turned to Garrus. "Garrus. You were in C-Sec, can you give us any insight into what we are dealing with?"

His nose was buried in the case files, it took a few moments for Shepard's question to register.

"Yes. He's a turian. A serial killer. He's tough to find and even tougher to kill. An ex-cop. He was infamous back in C-Sec, roughly four years ago. Never could find him, now matter how many people Pallin put on his case. Eventually it got to the point where he was starting to ruin C-Sec's reputation, so the case was closed down. 'Swept under the rug', I believe you humans would say."

It was true. Nodin had been the most wanted man on The Citadel for two years, the bodies kept coming in and every lead led straight into a dead end. If there was anything Pallin hated, it was to be made a fool of. And so, he dropped the case.

Nodin took the hint and had not been heard from since, probably off on the border planets, looking for prey. Garrus hated how C-Sec had handled his case, he knew that a bureaucracy couldn't handle someone like this. They expected repetition, goals, plans. They expected a turian. There was no method to Nodin's madness, and that was something no one wanted to accept. You couldn't catch Nodin with officers and investigators, you needed... something else. Someone else. Someone who understands him, understands how he thinks.

_Takes one to know one._

"Well great, just great. We have the most advanced ship in the alliance fleet, over a billion credits worth of equipment on-board, and the council has us chasing fucking Jack the Ripper in space." Joker tossed his folder down onto the tabletop, crossing his arms and sinking back into his chair.

Shepard shook her head at this. "Look, even if this isn't exactly galactic defense, why should we care? Think of it as an extended vacation, nothing wrong with that as far as I'm concerned."

A few nods, people began to fiddle with their own folders. Liara leaned over to Wrex and whispered.

_"Wrex, who's Jack the Ripper?"_

_"I don't know."_ Wrex kept his arms crossed, looking forward to Shepard.

"The council contacted me about thirty minutes ago with this. They said it was urgent, every second counts. That's why I woke all of you up, we're leaving, as soon as possible. The prep crew is packing up and getting off the ship as we speak, we should be in the air within the hour." She brushed a stray bang from her face. "I don't have all the details yet, but everything we need to know is in those files."

"Alright, alright—" Kaidan took a sip from his cup of coffee. "—so, who exactly _is_ this guy and why do they need a Spectre on his case? This seems like a domestic issue."

"It was," Garrus interjected, a stern look on his face. "Once C-Sec dropped his case, he vanished. Pallin assumed that he had ventured out to the border planets, where law enforcement isn't as tight. Pallin was happy with that, even though we couldn't catch him. According to these files, there hasn't been a solid sighting of him in over three years." Garrus flipped through his folder, extracting a photo and holding it up into the light for everyone to see. It was a crowd of turians, walking through a busy hallway. A messy circle scribbled in red marker indicated one, wearing a black cloak over his shoulders. His skin was a dark shade of brown, with no facial markings. "Turns out that he was spotted this morning walking through a turian ward. A security camera managed to capture a few photos of him. Identification checks have confirmed it, this is him."

Garrus placed the photo down on the counter, sliding it to the center of the table with his fingertips. Tali grabbed it, took a closer look, then passed it to Liara.

"That's not all, and I suspect this is why the council has called for Shepard to track him down; a body of a young asari was discovered this morning, thirty minutes before Nodin was spotted. She was found in a back alley of a turian ward, not far from the presidium. A bag was found near her with her saliva on the inside. C-Sec suspects that she was abducted somewhere, and the bag was placed over her head. They are still working out the details. It is thought that she was abducted somewhere in the presidium and brought to that location, before she was killed."

Garrus shifted in his seat, folding his hands in his lap. "Her face was cut to the point of nonrecognition. The tongue was removed. It was not found on the scene. Although Nodin has no known modus operandi, the brutality of the attack, coupled with his sudden appearance, makes him the prime suspect."

Kaidan accepted the picture from Liara, and spoke while he examined it. "Again, I don't see what this has to do with us. The Citadel is a big place, with a lot of people. A lot of people means a lot of whackjobs. Isn't C-Sec used to this by now?"

"That _body_—" Shepard stressed the word, putting down her cup of coffee, a solemn look on her face. "—is the body of Aviya. Sha'ira's daughter." Kaidan dropped the photograph onto the table, forgotten.

"Shit, you mean the consort? The consort's daughter?" Joker's mouth hung open in shock.

"I didn't know she had a daughter..." Liara spoke inwardly.

"Not anymore, she doesn't." Remarked Wrex, earning himself a piercing glare from Shepard.

"Well, if it wasn't personal before, this _makes_ it personal. It's an insult, aimed at the council and C-Sec. Just imagine the publicity this is going to get, now imagine how much worse everything will be if C-Sec can't catch the one responsible. They're afraid, so they're sending a Spectre to find him." Shepard displaced her bangs, rubbing her forehead, trying to ward off fatigue. "Garrus, do you have anything else to add before we start discussing our course of action?"

"Yes, actually." Garrus flipped open his folder and started pulling out photographs, papers, graphs, and maps. "A quick run-down, if I may. Nodin joined C-Sec at a young age, he stayed in it for over twenty years before dropping out. Rumor is that he was under investigation for misconduct when he left, he was always breaking rules. Well, he vanished for six years, before resurfacing on the Citadel as a small-time drug dealer. C-Sec underestimated him, and his business expanded rapidly. Before anyone knew it, he was the largest drug lord in the entire quadrant. He has nearly unlimited resources, and he manages his business flawlessly. He knows how C-Sec thinks, and how they react. If C-Sec tries to conduct a raid on one of his depots, they find it completely deserted, every time. He uses his drug money to finance his own private army of paid mercenaries, for protection and scouting. He is intelligent, fast-moving, and highly resourceful."

Garrus leaned forward. "He's also incredibly sadistic. He uses his drug cartel as a cover to protect his other... _interests_. Around the same time his drug business showed up on The Citadel, bodies started appearing. All over the place. It took a while to get a suspect, but a dental check on a bite mark pulled off one of the corpses confirmed his identity. Turians are his favorite target, but he doesn't discriminate between species. Every murder he has committed has been impressively violent, from what I remember. His victims always have to be identified using DNA testing, because it was impossible to tell otherwise. He's smart, he understands his place in the universe and knows that his kind can't survive long by picking victims off the street. He has money, he has power, and he uses it to get what he wants."

He folded his hands, looking around the table. "We better get moving quickly, because he already knows that he has been spotted. It is likely that he is on the move as we speak."

"Alright." Shepard turned. "Joker. I need you up on the bridge. We are taking off. Right now."

"Do we even know where we're going yet?"

"No, but I need you up there so we can set course the instant we have our first move planned out."

"Dammit." Joker sat up awkwardly, grabbing his crutches and strapping his arms into them. "It took me ten minutes just to get down here."

--

_ "A real tough guy, ah? Making fun of a goddamn cripple."_

_The sky was a piebald sea of green and black. Thin clouds of smog drifted overhead the rooftops as the sun sank beneath the skyscraper-lined horizon. Three figures huddled underneath a plastic tarp canopy while gentle rain pattered the sidewalk. A car whisked by, sloshing the contents of a puddle onto their feet. One of them fiddled with a lighter, shielding it with his hand as he lit a fresh cigarette. He rolled his eyes, cramming the lighter back into his coat pocket, taking a quick puff of the replacement.  
_

_"You're not a cripple, Julian, you still got one good eye. You signed up for that surgery, anyways. So stop whining about it, will 'ya?"_

_The figure raised his eye patch angrily, revealing pink mangled flesh, and a red scar jutting down from the socket. The man with the cigarette shut his eyes and leaned away, a look of disgust on his face. "I didn't sign up for **this** shit. I paid for the implant, the bastard fucked up on the first incision, and didn't even have the balls to stick around when I woke up. Kept the cash, too. Swear 'ta god, if I ever see that cheap sonufabitch—"_

_"Something's wrong." _

_The man took another drag from cigarette. "Whadd'ya say, Shepard?"_

_"I said, something's wrong. Where's your friend? It's 6:45, man." She leaned out from underneath the canopy, glancing both ways down the street. Her hands were shoved down in the pockets of her hoodie, pulling it taut over her head. "Damnit. Mark, you said he'd be here."_

_"Relax, 'Shep. He's only ten minutes late. Here—" he reached into his pocket, pulling out a small rectangular box. "—have a cig, will 'ya?_"

_"Don't smoke." She blew a soggy bang off of her face, staring at a fire hydrant across the street._

_"Damn, Mark. Where the hell you find this girl?"_

_"Enough, Jules. She goes to my school, she's cool. Just a little nervous, it's her first job, ya'know?" He nudged Shepard with his elbow. "'Besides, if she don't smoke, she don't smoke. Smarter than me or you, ya'know. Fucks your lungs up somethin' nice, I tell 'ya. Treatment is expensive, these days." He puffed a small cloud of smoke out into the rain, coughing. _

_A sleek black Mercedes pulled up to the sidewalk, the window slid down, a man with clean-cut brown hair and mirrored sunglasses looked out from the other side.  
_

_"There he is." Mark threw his cigarette down to the ground and stamped it out. Julian was already getting in. "Come on Shepard, let's go. Time to get paid."_

_Julian waved out the window. "Hurry up already! The rain is getting on the damn leather seats!"_

_"Let's go, 'Shep." He turned around and stared at her, wiping his mouth with his wet sleeve. _

_"Shepard?"_

_--_

"Shepard!"

The sound of fingers snapping.

"Shepard! Wake up, damnit!"

"Huh?"

The table. The crew. Oh yes, the meeting.

"Should we set course or not?" Kaidan waved a sheet of paper in her face, coordinates and graphs scribbled all over it's surface. Shepard blinked. Kaidan groaned. "Christ, Shepard, the coordinates. We have reason to believe that Nodin has a base here, and since it's only a day or so away, we think it should be our first stop. It is a station, orbiting a small moon-"

Garrus interrupted. "Nodin's far too smart to run and hide there, but we might be able to get some information. Don't you agree?"

"Oh, uhmm. Yes, yes. I do." She folded her hands, sniffling. "Kaidan, go give Joker the coordinates. Everyone else, go get some rest."

The crew stumbled out of the mess hall, mumbling to themselves. Shepard started up the stairs to the main deck. She heard talons clicking behind her. A hand was placed on her shoulder, pulling her around.

"Shepard."

"Garrus."

"I'm sorry Shepard, but I do not think I can stress this enough. Don't underestimate Nodin. He's unlike anything you've ever seen."

Garrus looked at his arm, outstretched and resting on Shepard's shoulder. He could still see the blood, dripping down onto the floor.

_Her blood._

"Thanks for the warning, Garrus." Her vision wandered, scratching awkwardly at her forearm. "So... how have you been?"

"Oh, me..." Garrus pulled back his hand, crossing his arms. "Fine, I suppose. What about you?"

_You killed her._

"Fine, thanks for asking. The damn feds have been on my back, though. You may have noticed those creeps in white coats around here the other day? Yeah, they were examining the ship, conducting prototype research, so they say." She shrugged, giving him a nearly imperceptible smile.

"Alright, well. I'm... off to my room. To go to sleep. In my room." He started to back away, retreating towards the door. His hand rubbed the back of his head, collecting the sweat that was forming on his neck.

She waved, smiling nervously. "Bye?"

"Commander." A haphazard salute, and he was out the door.

Up on the main deck, Joker sat in the pilot's chair. He gently caressed a pair of joysticks, coaxing The Normandy out of the docking bay. His feet stomped back and forth, pushing down on pedals of various shapes and sizes, the ship responding with guttural rumbles and jerks. Several red lights were flashing above his head, he didn't seem to care.

"Hey, 'Shep. Mind backing off a bit? I can't fly this thing with you leaning over my shoulder like that."

--

_"Someone mind telling her to sit back and put her damn seatbelt on?"_

_A hand yanked Shepard back into her seat, away from the windshield. Mark whispered in her ear, "Shepard, just let the man drive. He knows where he is going."  
_

_"So... Mark, right?" The man with sunglasses spoke, staring out the window, expressionless. "You got the goods?"_

_"Yes I do." Mark pulled three bags from his coat. Plastic, marked with black symbols, small blue wafers could be seen inside of each. He held them out like a child showing his mother his favorite toy. _

_The man with sunglasses grabbed one, shaking it around slightly. He scratched his chin and handed the bag back to Mark, never bothering to look at him. _

_"Four hundred, per." _

_Silence.  
_

_"You said six hundred." Mark spoke slowly, gaze shifting to the floor. The man stared at him, mirrored glasses reflecting Mark's face two times over. _

_Shepard fidgeted, her seatbelt suddenly felt very tight. The car started to slow down, the driver turned and rested his arm on the passenger's seat.__ Mark tugged at his collar, avoiding the gaze of both men.  
_

_"Alright. Four hundred..."_

--

"Commander Shepard, we are off the ground," Joker reported, switching to autopilot before swiveling his chair to face her. "Let's go catch this bastard."

Shepard's hands were interlocked behind her back, her eyes drifted across the vast expanse of space. She blinked, glancing to Joker, to the ship's controls, then back into the abyss.

"Let's."

* * *

**Edit: **Revised. I changed virtually nothing text-wise in this chapter. Just spacing and a few minor details.


	4. Chaotic System

**Edit:** New, revised, de-cluttered, super-duper edition, circa 7/06/09!

* * *

**4**

**Chaotic System**

It was lunchtime.

Shepard had planted herself in front of her room's large rectangular window, where solar fastballs skirted past the edges of the glass and into infinity. She had a box of chow mein in one hand and chopsticks in the other. Fiddling with the two sticks, Shepard forklifted a steaming clump of noodles into her mouth.

The crew was in the lower deck, experimenting with the Chinese food Joker had picked up, back on The Citadel. Like most of the crew, Shepard had never eaten Chinese cuisine before, a reality that was turning today's lunchtime into somewhat of a tight rope act. She clicked the two wooden sticks together like pincer claws and staked them back into the box of noodles. The lights in her room were off, but she had turned down the filter on her window. A nearby star illuminated her face and chest—as well as her feet, which were propped up on a small coffee table—vectoring her room into dueling masses of black and indigo.

Shepard hated missing lunch. It was one of Shepard's 'social periods'; windows of opportunity where she could remind her crew that she was more than a mechanized commander.

She could bark orders like a bureaucrat files papers, put a bullet through someone's skull while sipping a cup of coffee, stand up straight, say all the right things, nod when she needed to, salute where she was supposed to. These were all masks, baggage she had picked up through years of military training and discipline.

In this respect every soldier is the same, they all have split personalities. The tea and biscuits hit the floor whenever bullets started flying, and whoever the soldier thought they were is tied to a chair and kicked into the dark corner of the room. From here they watch themselves commit wanton acts of violence without so much as flinching. Always aware, but never in control.

Shepard needed not only to convince her crew that she was more than their superior officer, but to convince herself that she wasn't lying to them. It made her uncomfortable, but she felt that being alone would help her think. She needed to reflect on the past few days, to try and make some sense of things.

Garrus, Garrus, Garrus...

Shepard mused to herself, her mind constantly dwelling on the subject of her turian companion. She found herself fleeing from him, an odd reversal of their previous positions. She was having difficulty focusing when she spoke to him now, something that embarrassed her beyond description.

Her mindless, platonic adoration of him had been replaced with self-conscious loathing and regret. Every awkward broken English phrase uttered in good faith, every twitch of his mandibles, every blink of his fathomless blue eyes, it was starting to make her woozy. She cursed herself for it, because she genuinely wanted to hear what he had to say. And still, she found herself fumbling with words, giggling like she was back in middle school talking to her first crush.

Crush. Had it advanced to that stage? Shepard thought for a moment.

_Shit._

Perhaps they just had not worked out a rhythm of interaction yet? When one of them was in the mood to speak, the other was not. One minute Garrus was asking around for Shepard, garnering haphazard finger pointing and whispers out of earshot. The next minute, Shepard was scurrying around asking for Garrus, receiving confused murmurs and headscratches as a response.

They were locked into a perpetual game of cat and mouse, the chaotic internal logic of it obscured to all but those who participated. Shepard had thought of interrupting the flow, forbidding herself to avoid Garrus until he inevitably showed up on her doorstep. She never followed through. She didn't think of it as chickening out, she was merely retaining the natural order of things.

_It will sort itself out in the end,_ she thought. If they both kept running in circles, they would eventually have to crash into each other.

A tangled sphere of noodles found it's way into her mouth, floating ribbons of steam following in its path. It had been three days. Joker hadn't moved since they took off; sensors had detected an EM scanning device a few clicks away from the ship on it's way to the jump node. He was spooked, to say the least. Pleas from the crew did little to tear his gaze from the thousands of blinking lights and scrolling letters, his feet firmly planted on steel petals, hands coating the joysticks with a filmy solution of sweat and Mountain Dew.

The Normandy was heading for a nearby station, detected and photographed by an asari stealth satellite some five months back. Further recon had revealed several sets of symbols on the structure that tied it to Nodin's drug syndicate. An electronic ID check, performed by an undercover C-Sec operative, confirmed this. There was absolutely no chance of finding Nodin there. To run and hide in a base that is not only on the grid, but is also the closest known base of operations to The Citadel, would be an amateurish mistake. It was purely an information gathering mission.

Gathering information was top priority at this point. Despite Shepard's hopes, Garrus had little information of use on the case. He said that Nodin was the 'boogie monster of C-Sec'. Much was told, little was known.

The case files held about as much solid information as a paranormal investigation report. Fitting, thought Shepard, because as far as she could tell this man was a ghost. A few blurry snapshots of his face and some dental records formed the entirety of the physical evidence. After that was a bloated stack of paper that would make even the most sedulous bureaucrat shiver, the title page reading: _**Suspected Victims**_. The known victims list was somewhat shorter, with a macabre photo album riding shotgun. He had no method, it would seem, other than finding new methods of inflicting damage upon organisms. The photos were too gruesome for Shepard to observe for more than a few minutes, Garrus seemed to be the only one who could stomach it.

Shepard wasn't scared easily, but this creep was giving her reason to lock her door at night.

---

"Look at the sternum; it's completely ripped free of the chest cavity." Garrus was slaving over a pile of grotesque photos. Kaidan, Ashley, and Wrex leaned over his shoulders, trying to get a better look. "That rib, it's snapped clean in half. There is no way to get that kind of leverage standing up."

"Well, Garrus. That's certainly revolting, why is this important?" Kaidan spoke.

"It means the break occurred after the victim died. He had already killed him, but then decided to snap his rib in half and carve out his chest. Does that sound normal to you?"

"So if he killed him and left his torso all nice and pretty it would be normal?"

"Forget it. I'm just speculating, we just need a way to predict what he will do next, is all. Analyzing victim photographs is the only way to do that."

"Only way to do what?" Shepard descended from the top deck, strolling into the wreck room from the staircase entrance. She locked eyes with Garrus momentarily. The cat and mouse game was postponed, rained out by the presence of other crew mates.

"Hello Commander. We're looking for patterns in Nodin's files. Some of these photographs are truly fascinating." He fixated on a particular photograph, Shepard couldn't see exactly what it depicted. She saw red splatters, the rest was obscured by the overhead light.

"Jesus Christ, Garrus. You look like you're getting a freaking hard-on there." Ashley and Wrex laughed while Kaidan smirked. Shepard stifled a chuckle. He did seem rather interested by a picture of a mutilated corpse. Luckily, the joke flew over his head.

"Well, find anything so far?" Shepard spared him the embarrassment.

"Anything useful? No."

"Well, we should be arriving in a few hours. Hopefully we can get something a bit more useful out of the station than abstract corporeal artwork." Shepard motioned to Wrex for a cup of coffee, he shrugged his shoulders. Kaidan sighed started towards the coffee machine. Shepard mouthed the word _'Decaf'_ to Kaidan on his way by. Garrus looked up from the photo.

"Pardon me for asking Shepard, but what do we plan on doing when we arrive? Stations controlled by insane drug lords weren't exactly Alliance-friendly, last time I checked."

"Therein lies the beauty of Spectres," Wrex cut in before Shepard could speak, "Shepard can do whatever, whenever, she wants. She isn't monitored. She isn't restricted. She isn't suspected. After years of patrolling known space, Spectres become vulnerable to certain... dishonorable, tendencies. Drugs are fairly common, I would assume. Why would anyone throw you off of _their_ station? Successful drug lords need contacts, you see. There is no better contact then a Spectre hooked on your drugs. You get business, and you get protection. We can walk right inside, as long as we don't shoot the docking managers." Garrus looked from Wrex to Shepard, awaiting a response.

She massaged the back of her head, a look of apprehension covering her face. "More or less... We will take cover behind the moon for the night, it should give us ample protection from the station's long range sensors. From there, we just dock up, ask around for Nodin. Lie if we have to, spend a little money, and try not to get shot. With any luck we will leave with some information on how to find our mystery man." She finished with a reluctant smile.

Garrus blinked. "Oh... well, alright then."

"Here you go." Kaidan handed a steaming cup of coffee to Shepard, who thanked him.

"No shore team this time- Ouch! That's hot." Shepard tried to take a sip of her coffee. "I'm sending everyone down. Joker will stay and watch the ship with the maintenance crew. We will split up into groups and see what we can find out. There is a large shopping center at the base of the structure, it should be ripe with information."

"Shopping center?" Wrex's eyes focused on Shepard. "I thought this was a remote base?"

"Not exactly. It's a black market hub. Guns, drugs, illegal spices, prostitution, slaves. That kind of thing." Shepard brushed a stray bang away from her face. Kaidan smirked and took a sip of his coffee.

"Don't worry, Wrex. I'm sure they sell makeup there, too." The corners of Garrus's mouth twisted into a smile, his gaze drifted down to one of the photographs. The intercom sounded, Joker's voice flooded the cabin.

_"Guys, you might want to get up here."_

_---_

"What is it?"

"I'm not sure. Sensors say it's some kind long range probe, but it's giving off abnormally large amounts of heat. If the sensors are correct, that's one inefficient probe."

"How fast is it moving?"

"About twenty or thirty meters a 'sec. Its speed is erratic, that's what bothers me. Just a second ago it was going forty, and then it decelerated back to ten, stopped, and so on." Joker's eyes tracked a small orange blip drifting across a large green sensor grid. The crew was assembled behind him, trying to make some sense of the endless streams of numbers and variables tumbling down the various computer monitors.

"Maybe a personnel carrier of some sort? Their engines might be malfunctioning." Shepard spoke up.

"Possibly. Though it could only carry a few people, at most. You wanna check it out? Could be a trap." Shepard thought for a moment, pressing her lip in with her finger, her other arm supporting her elbow.

"Alright, alter our course and bring us closer. See if you can get a visual on it."

"Will do." And the sweat-coated joystick was pushed forward.

* * *

**Edit: **Chapter 4, the last of the originals. Mostly spacing, but a few stylistic elements were changed as well.


	5. Pods

Whoa baby, it's been a long time. Nothing I can say but: Sorry guys. I got sucked into a non-fanfiction short story and shot this one out of the airlock.

Amazingly, I still know almost exactly where I was planning to go with this story and I feel prepared to do that this time around. You may notice that I've Hemingway'd the writing out a bit to keep it from becoming cluttered, but I'm not sure what I want to do with the style in this. I'll learn as I go along.

**I went back and revised the earlier chapters. Nothing extreme, but they are spaced out more and somewhat easier to read (hopefully).**

**On my overall strategy:** Maybe if I stick to shorter, more frequent updates I won't burn out like I did last time. That's why I've split this update into a two-part SUPER DUPER update, consisting of two approximately 2,500-word chapters. Hilariously, at the start of Chapter 4, I said that I was changing formats to make releases faster, and then forgot about the story.

**To the reviewers:** Thanks, guys. Your love and support motivates me to win over more love and support. I fully expect flowers and statues carved in my image this time around.

I recommend reviewing the older chapters to get your bearings, especially the last chapter, because I'm going to jump straight back into this one. Maybe even go back and really _edit_ those chapters. I'm not sure, but it's a definite possibility. And so, without a further 8 months of adieu, **Cool Blue** continues, leaving an oil-slick trail of Turian blood in its wake:

* * *

**5**

**Pods  
**

An escape pod was what they found.

Docking lights green, atmosphere checks out. Pop open the door. Check for survivors.

"Jesus. He's a skeleton."

A skeleton on top of a skeleton on top of a skeleton on top of a—

"Call the doc! We've got survivor!"

That's a lot of vertebrae and femurs to be sitting on for any period of time.

"Get him an IV, quick."

Also, rotting slabs of meat crammed against the walls of the hull.

"Shepard? Yeah, it's Kaidan. I think you'd better come—"

Staked skulls over pools of blood.

"I think I'm—"

Skin stretched like canvas on the walls.

"—going to be—"

Nodin gives one hell of a first impression.

--

Through an octagonal glass quarantine window lay a crumpled husk of a human being. He was enveloped by a web of tubes and hardwired to a beeping medical display. The Normandy's bio hazard lights pulsed in time with the steady beat of the heart monitor.

Shepard frowned. "How's he doing?"

"He's stable, if that's what you mean."

"Stable enough to lock inside the dungeon."

"We found traces of a Turian biological weapon in some of the blood. Garrus and Kaidan are being scrubbed down as we speak—" Chakwas gave Shepard an annoyed glare. "—in the other _dungeon._"

"Sorry, doc."

"He's severely malnourished, dehydrated, and has a bacterial infection located around his spine that will take a few weeks to clean out even with Citadel-grade antibacs, of which we have none."

"What _can_ we give him?"

"Standard pills, military issue. Nothing intravenous, and we'll have to drain the area if you don't want his spinal column being eaten away within the next week. After that there's not much else we can do."

"Think the station might have some antibacs?"

"That seems more like your area of expertise, commander."

"I'll talk to Wrex. Keep me posted. If you can clear the quarantine, I want to speak with him," Shepard pointed inside the octagonal view port.

"He won't be doing much talking, I'd imagine," said Chakwas.

"Can't you give him something for the pain?"

"The physical pain? Yes. I doubt that will be the problem."

"Oh," said Shepard. Tired of watching her leads slip between her fingers like grains of crimson sand, the strain of running on empty was beginning to show in her eyes. She drew in a breath and tried to forget what she saw on Garrus and Kaidan's crewcams.

"Is there anything else, Shepard? I need to keep a close eye on Mr. ...—well, we never did get an ID on him."

"No," Shepard paused, "what about Garrus and Kaidan?"

"You can go see them if you want. If they aren't infected with anything, of course."

"I'll talk to the crew first."

"Good luck."

"What?"

The airtight sealing doors of the quarantine buffer chamber hissed shut in response.

--

In the briefing room, the reality of the situation seemed to be sinking in. Facial muscles held tight with military training, but minute blossoms of fear could be seen in the eyes of the crew by anyone who cared to look. Collective thoughts of panic, doubt, and rage swam through the air like the souls of the escape pod's crew.

"Hey, chief, when are Garrus and Kaidan coming out of the cleaners?" The joke came out stale. Joker's voice had all the jittery unease of a heroine addict.

Shepard frowned. "Since when are you calling me chief?"

"God dammit Shepard spare me the CO bullshit—" He cocked his head downward and bit his lip. "I'm sorry, commander. It's just—"

"Forget it. We're all jumpy." She sat down. "Chakwas says it's only a precaution."

"But when?"

"Soon."

The gentle throb of The Normandy's attitude thrusters battling lunar gravity could be heard in the silence.

"How long until we go down?" A rare softness was found in Wrex's question. Joker pounced on the conversation hook before Shepard could answer.

"What? We're still going down there?"

Liara looked up toward Joker. "You mean the pod?"

"The pod's gone," said Shepard. "We set the autopilot on a course with the moon. Should've crashed by now."

"The station, for Christ's sake!" Joker tried to keep himself under control.

"Of course we're still going down. Why the hell not?"

"Are you crazy? After that shit we just found in a God damned jettison pod? It could be a fucking cannibal metropolis down there for all we know."

Wrex partnered up with Shepard, taking street seniority, in a way. "For all we know it's a normal black market hub. I've seen worse things floating around on the outer rim."

"I'm sure this isn't a normal occurrence, Joker. We still have a mission, and we don't have a choice either way. The survivor we pulled out of there needs antibacs, and we don't have any."

Shepard eyed Wrex to stress that she was in control here, but not to scorn him for his input. He understood, and backed out.

"You're a Spectre! Just call in the damn cavalry and get some delivered! It'll take a day, at the most."

"Can't. Long range comms at this range will be picked up by the station, and the whole mission is over. Nodin will know we're after him before we even step foot onto our first lead."

"So what are you proposing? That we waltz on down into this shit hole and ask politely for some meds?"

"That's exactly what I'm proposing," Shepard locked her hands together and gave Joker an executive look. "You want to volunteer?"

Joker sunk back into his chair, defeated. "You've made your point."

"I'm going to go check on Garrus and Kaidan while you people calm down." Shepard turned to Wrex. "Wrex, you know what to expect at these places. Mind briefing the crew a bit on what we'll find down at our cannibal metropolis? Maybe it'll calm their nerves."

"What about you?" Wrex asked.

"I know enough about the streets to know I never want to go back."

Wrex studied her for a moment. "Yes, I read your file. Sounds like you were quite the warrior back on Earth."

"That's not in my file," said Shepard.

"Not your C-Sec file."

She paused. "You ever been to Earth, Wrex?"

"No."

"Good. It's a dump."

He smiled.

--

"Feeling alright, Alenko? Thought we'd found ourselves a problem for a minute there."

Kaidan was standing outside of a MedPod anti-radiation/anti-biological shower unit with a plastic medical apron wrapped hastily around his torso. He was shivering.

"Nothing I can't handle, commander. How's the survivor?"

Shepard's expression tightened. "What about Garrus?" She could hear the static sound of pressurized cleaning fluid inside the other pod.

"Guess he's taking a little longer." Kaidan looked to the other white pod. "I don't think MedPod designed these things for Turians."

Shepard remembered Chakwas' words: _A** turian** biological weapon. _It was a new feeling for Shepard to be distracted by something unrelated to the—

_Please be okay dammit don't let him be infected with something not out here not now please don't not Garrus not_

_—_mission to the point where she couldn't think straight or hold a conversation. Kaidan waited. And waited.

"Commander?"

A pause. "Yes?"

"The man we rescued. How is he?"

"He is..." Shepard's eyes never left the pod. "Stable, for now. We need stronger antibacs from the station."

"We're going down?" asked Kaidan.

"We're going down."

Inside the pod, pressurized water was still hissing. The lights on the door continued to pulse.

"It's been a while," said Kaidan, "I was out ten minutes ago, maybe fifteen."

Shepard walked over to the pod. She slid her hand over the console, examining the sliders and buttons. One of them said, "AI," on its surface. She pressed it.

The pod croaked and said, "MedPod unit serial FG67025 limited user interface activated. How may I help you?" The voice was steely but feminine.

"How long until my crewmember can come out?" asked Shepard.

"User, log, sigma zero one, has been undergoing a pressurized radiation/biological sweep for twenty-three minutes and, as of operator's inquiry, seventeen seconds."

"But how long until he can come out?"

"User, log, sigma zero one, has—"

"Fucking limited AI." Shepard slammed the console with her palm. "Estimated time until completion?"

"Unknown."

This was a state-of-the-art ship equipped with state-of-the-art technology. Unknown was never a good answer.

"Status of current patient?"

"Unknown."

"Species of current patient?"

"Unknown."

_Shit._

Kaidan had stumbled closer to the console, he stood now over Shepard's shoulder. "Get him out of there, commander!"

"Computer, end current user cycle," she said.

"Unable to comply. See: Citadel Biological Weapon Containment Protocol, line two-hundred, clause—"

"Override!"

"Unable to comply. See: Citadel Biological—"

"Open the fucking doors!" she yelled, slamming her palms against the console a second time.

"Error in syntax, please restate."

Shepard reached down to the comms unit on her wrist. She dialed for the bridge, stopped, then entered the code for the mess hall.

"Commander?" the voice whispered.

"Joker, get someone to the bridge and cut power to medical supply room two."

"What?"

"Do it now!"

She heard grunting over comm link, people yelling and Joker trying to feed them directions while he dragged himself up the stairs. Shepard stood with her arms crossed, waiting. It felt like forever, but the lights finally blacked out and the static hiss of the MedPod ceased.

Shepard ripped the console open with savage intensity, prying her fingers into the machinery, looking for a locking mechanism. "Kaidan, get the doctor. We might need her down here," she said.

"Right away," he said, running as best he could over to the door in his medical apron.

Through the sea of wires Shepard could feel a metal hinge. She gave it a tug to no effect. Propping her feet against the pod, she pulled with her body, leaning away and dragging the hinge back with her. It snapped open, yanking a few more wires free as her body met the floor. She was up in an instant, ignoring the throbbing spot on the back of her head. The door to the pod had drifted open. She heard coughing come from inside and stopped.

"Garrus?" She opened the door slowly with her hand, afraid to look inside.

More coughing, and then a flanging noise like an android clearing its throat, came from inside. That was more than Shepard could take. She swung the door open and slipped into the pod. A jagged Turian ball was curled up in the far corner of the pod. He was starting to unravel, giving him room to cough on his forearm.

Shepard rushed over to him and put her arm on his shoulder. He was ice-cold. "Are you alright?" She shook him and repeated herself. "Garrus!"

In between fits of coughing, he managed to say, "Shepard," but little more.

She hesitated, and said, "Doctor's on her way."

He made the flanging noise again, which seemed to help him somewhat, and said, "Don't worry. I'm—fine. Too... what... here... cold..."

She stayed next to him until the doctor arrived, crouching, so she could leave her hand on his shoulder. When his eyelids started to drift shut, she gave his shoulder a squeeze. He responded by lifting his talon to rest on her forearm. The contact sent shivers running down her spine, and she realized that he was not only freezing cold, but also completely naked. It must have been panic that allowed her to focus entirely on his face, never daring to look downward past his collarbone—did he even have a collarbone?—or it might have been his eyes. Those cool, blue eyes.

_I missed them,_ thought Shepard, staring. Their position was, she felt, a fitting end to the cat and mouse game of the past few days.

Shepard gently pulled Garrus up to his feet when Chakwas came running through the door, Kaidan in hot pursuit, looking like a ghoul in his white apron. She handed Garrus one of the aprons, which he wrapped around himself, realizing his position relative to Shepard. They walked to the medical lab in silence.

--

"How's he doing?"

"Commander, that's the second time today you've asked me that question." Chakwas didn't look up from her clipboard.

"...Well?"

"He's fine." She looked up, eyes glazed in exasperated annoyance. "F-I-N-E, fine. Just a little chilled with some minor abrasions from the water pressure."

"I was just asking... He was in there for a while."

"Well those pods clearly weren't designed for non-human physiology. They must have slipped through the bureaucracy's net. We'll have to order new ones when we get back to The Citadel. In the meantime I recommend that everyone _calm down_."

Shepard rubbed at her arm. "How was I supposed to know? He could have been seriously hurt, or infected with something that—"

"Yes, infected with something that we would now all have been exposed to." The doctor gave her a stern look.

"I didn't have a choice. If the pod couldn't detect whatever it was after twenty minutes it wouldn't have detected it at all."

"Yes, I suppose you're right, but it was just water and cleaning fluid. He was in no serious danger, and you... seemed awfully distressed."

Shepard felt she was under fire. "I value all of my crew members. If I even _think_ one of them is in danger, I'm not going to half-ass it. Understand?"

"Well, yes... I apologize commander, I..." The doctor shrunk back behind her clipboard.

"I'm sorry, I overreacted. Can I go inside and see him?"

"Yes," replied Chakwas, "he's clean."

Shepard keyed in the command code for the medbay door, walked in, and shut the door behind her. She watched the hallway through the security camera until the doctor walked away, before sliding over to the center table where Garrus lay. His chest rose and fell underneath the layers of blankets and thermal padding that had been heaped upon him. She reached out to touch the blankets, and he stirred.

"Did I ever tell you Turians hate the cold, commander?" he said, with a strange birdlike smile, made even more alien by his obvious fatigue.

Shepard smiled back, laughing softly. "Yes, on multiple occassions." She paused, letting the smile wear down. "How are you feeling?"

"Warmer by the second, and you?"

"Fine."

"You seem tense."

She pushed a troublesome bang away from her face. "Well, considering what we found on that pod, and... I thought you were in trouble for a second back there, is all."

"Yes—" He yawned, pushing some of the blankets away. "—death by shower. Quite honorable, so I've heard."

Shepard laughed, wondering if he was on drugs. "Funny, you're the only one that never seems to end up in here on normal circumstances."

"Getting shot is considerably more difficult than some of you make it seem." He chuckled slightly, but it ended up sounding like coughing.

"There's always one crewmember that never gets injured, no matter how hard they might try." She smiled. "Looks like it's you. Try to keep it that way."

"Orders understood." He gave her a fake salute.

She laughed and said, "Nice to see you're still in good spirits. What you saw down there was pretty horrifying."

He waved it away with his hand. "I've seen worse, back in C-Sec."

"Want some water? You were coughing."

"Sure," he said, with some hesitation. "Thank you." He took the cup and leaned forward to take a few sips.

"No problem," said Shepard.

"The doctor says I'll be up and moving within the hour. I hope this doesn't interfere with the mission."

"Not at all. We're all going down, but... You think you're still up for it?"

He looked puzzled.

Shepard shook her head and smiled. "You really are clueless. Do you think you'll be ready to go?"

"Yes, of course. I wouldn't miss it for the world, flying down into some crime-infested black market headquarters." He lay down on the metal slab, closing his eyes and exhaling. "Couldn't let you go without me. You might get shot."

She patted the blankets covering his chest. "Come up when you're ready, alright?"

He opened one eye, looked at her, and said, "Okay, commander."

* * *

**Author's notes: **It's good to be back, I guess.

As always, please review: If you don't, I won't kill you, but you'll wish that I had.


	6. Digging

Part 2 of the mega ultra SUPER DUPER **Cool Blue** revival starts now.

* * *

**6**

**Digging  
**

There was a clamor in the docking bay of weapons loading, helmets sealing and resealing, and locker doors bouncing on metal hinges. Shepard stood in the metal, shouting, "No guns, dammit! Nothing larger than a pistol! If you're wearing armor make sure it's at least somewhat casual. Wrex, that's bigger than a fucking pistol! Don't argue with me! We're down in ten! People, come on!"

Garrus walked in from the elevator corridor. He was wearing a nondescript Turian armor, or perhaps a shirt. Shepard couldn't tell; it looked like a bulletproof windbreaker and she was no more acquainted with Turian fashion than any other members of the crew.

The commotion died down when he spoke. "Sorry I'm late."

"Welcome back to the world of the living," said Ashley.

Joker's voice crackled over the intercom. "They hailed us, commander. We're locked on course, touch down in five."

"Copy that, Joker." She turned toward the crew. "You heard the man, get your shit together."

As Garrus walked by, Shepard whispered to him, "You feeling better?"

"Perfect," he said. He stared at her for a moment and walked to his locker.

--

The ship's hull rattled. A hissing noise came from the airlock doors.

"Contact," Joker said, "we're locked in. Air fill reads positive, you're clear."

"Nice work, Joker," said Shepard.

"Commander," Joker continued, "what's our policy for any intruders?"

Shepard thought for a moment. A total lockdown policy could attract unwanted attention. "Don't lock the doors, but... put up a private signal over the internal bay. If anyone comes in, tell them off. If they continue inside, force is authorized. Understood?"

"Understood, commander. Opening doors. Good luck over there, guys. Joker out."

The steel doors slid open and the team crowded into the small biological screening room. Doors shut behind them and a grid of lasers scanned them up and down, announcing them 'cleared' with a green light and congratulatory ringing noise. There was no customary greeting room after the bioscan area. Instead, the buffer area dumped them right into a rusty, metallic shell of a docking bay. Following Shepard, the group moved toward the door that said 'TRANSIT 5' on it. Inside was an elevator—again, cramped—that took them up to civilian living space.

It was crowded. It was dank. It was linear. Standing in front of the elevator doors, they could see all the way through the simulatory urban center to the opposing transit station, obscured by numerous holographic advertisements. The area itself was a large cross-shaped intersection carved out of metal. The walls were not walls, but an endless chain of stores and clubs. In the center was a visitor's kiosk and a map of the station's civilian areas, this meeting point packed to the brim with pedestrians.

"Alright people," said Shepard, raising her voice to overcome the noise of the crowd, "we'll split up into teams for now. Kaidan, you're with Liara. Wrex, Ashley, and Tali, you're team two. Garrus and I will be team three. Keep in contact but try not to raise suspicion, avoid talking on comms if you don't have to. Right now we're digging, and that's all we're doing. Walk around, learn the place, soak up some information, and try to blend in. Okay?"

They nodded and Shepard waved them away, watching the two teams disappear into the crowd. She turned to Garrus.

"Ready to get digging?"

"I get the feeling you have more experience at this than myself. I'll try my best to blend in," said Garrus. He was looking around, examining the walls and some of the more curiously dressed pedestrians.

"Just try to act... cool." She looked at him and waited for his gaze to turn toward her. "You know what I mean?"

He flipped his holo readout down in front of his left eye and said, "I'll try not to draw my weapon."

"Don't wear that."

"You mean my readout? But—"

"On second thought," said Shepard, "leave it down. It has a nice_ techie_ look to it. Very jagged."

"Very what?"

"You look fine. Let's go."

They disappeared into the crowd.

--

"I'm not sure I know what this is, commander." Garrus poked at the gelatinous glob sitting in his cup with chopsticks.

"Bartender said it was Turian stuff, didn't he? And don't call me commander, not here. Too official, if anyone overhears us."

"Sorry, Shepard, but I'm still not sure this is edible." He pushed the cup away, cramming it against the concrete wall in front of them. At the top of the wall was a sizable monitor that cycled through about five different advertisements, all for the same company.

"Shepard's no good, either. People might recognize us. We're going incognito—call me Jane."

"But Jane is your real name."

"I know, but I doubt many civilians know that. What should I call you?"

"Garrus?"

"That's too obvious."

"I'm not a hero."

"You're a cop."

"Good point."

"Well?"

"Garrus."

"Dammit. Haven't you ever had a nickname? Like, back on Palaven?"

He thought about it for a second, and said, "Not that I can remember, no."

Shepard sighed. "Fine, Garrus it is."

"Jane and Garrus, nondescript visitors to this wonderful station. One, a streetwise human female, the other, an undercover cop with nothing to lose."

"You've been spending too much time near Joker, haven't you?" She smiled.

He looked up at the large monitor hovering above their heads. "Watching old human television programs in my room, when I can't get to sleep."

_Learning more about humans,_ he thought, _more about you._

Shepard decided to play along. "Well, we have names, but what we need are aliases. I can be an out-of-work miner, looking for a jump start in the implant business, and you can be my husband."

"What?" Garrus nearly shouted, his attention ripped away from the monitor.

"It was only a joke."

"Oh." He looked away, embarrassed, then recuperated. "Yes, that could work. I suppose our forbidden union would be the saucy edge we need to get by in a place like this."

Shepard couldn't help but laugh at his momentary panic. "You're probably right." She spun the chair around and rested her elbows on the bar top, surveying the street outside. "Yes, we're quite the masters of disguise, aren't we."

Garrus followed suit, squinting at the shuffling crowds just outside the bar. "Masters of disguise," he repeated.

They were silent, for a few minutes, watching the foot traffic slide by underneath the neon glow. Garrus's stomach rumbled, and he reached back for his cup of unidentified jelly. After a tentative sniff, he started to eat.

"Good?" asked Shepard.

"It's... interesting. Like no Turian food I've ever tasted."

"Welcome to the street," said Shepard. "Not everything you eat is going to racially tuned, if you know what I mean. You thought Concord was a strange place, back at The Citadel, humans and turians, you know? Well, out here concepts like that don't even exist. Everything's a mishmash of everything else. Not really because people want it to be like that, but because there simply isn't enough space for everyone to have a little corner cut out for their species. If you do find a Turian bar, it's going to be an unofficial Turian bar, and not everything you eat is going to be traditional Palaven cuisine."

"On Earth, is it the same?"

"Well—" Shepard paused to think. "—Not exactly. Asian? European? Latin? Doesn't mean anything. Everything is so close together that every culture that ever existed on Earth has been slammed together so many times no one can really tell the difference anymore.

"Earth also has a very, very small non-human population. If any non-humans do live on Earth, I'd say most of them work at those 'Alien Fetishist' strip bars that used to pop up in all the bad neighborhoods. And—don't ask me why I ever walked into one of those places—it was entirely Asari." She looked over to Garrus, who was listening attentively. "The first time I saw a turian in person was on The Citadel."

"I suppose we're not liked very much on Earth," he said.

"No," said Shepard, softly. "Old hatreds die hard, I guess. I remember people used to call turians 'Turingans'."

"Huh?"

"It's a bad pun. The Turing test is an old method humans used to use to evaluate computer systems. The joke was that turians weren't capable of passing the test because they were so socially inept. Like machines, people thought."

"That's not entirely inaccurate," said Garrus.

"You really think that?"

"I don't always think that, no, but we do tend to follow a rather rigid hierarchy. At least in comparison to what I have seen of humans. Turians that don't follow the hierarchy often end up like Nodin. An embarrassment, an exception, an anomaly."

"What about you?"

"Myself? I hope I'm not that out of the ordinary."

_Every night you dream of killing her._

"I don't see you as a machine, Garrus. You're very funny, actually, when you're relaxed. But how would other turians see you? Flying around on a ship full of humans, alongside the first human Spectre, tracking down another turian? Hell, we even have a Krogan on the team."

"I see your point. Perhaps I am a bit strange, by turian standards. Personally, I've never cared very much for most of our traditions. I've lived most of my life alongside what my father thinks... thought, I should." He looked down at his cup.

"All of us are a bit outside of the system, and that's what makes The Normandy so important. We're all rogues, pilgrims, cops, Spectres, and soldiers. It takes something like that to change the order of things, so one day we won't have to grow up living someone else's life. And believe me, I know the feeling."

Garrus looked to her, drinking in her kind facial expression. "If I could smile, I would."

"You can smile," Shepard said, "I've seen you do it."

"Must have been a disgusting sight," he said, mandibles twisting into an alien grin.

"There it is! See? All you need is the proper stimulus."

"So," he said, chewing absently on some of the jelly, "what do you think our first stop should be?"

"I'm thinking that visitor's center in the middle of this floor would be a good place to start. After that, we should hit the clubs and see what we can find out about the hot spots."

"This is starting to sound like a vacation."

"Hey, none of that. This is not a vacation. This is serious detective work."

"Nodin isn't here, you know."

"Of course not. But some of his contacts might be, and they could lead us to him."

"Then it's a vacation. We have nothing to do here aside from going to clubs, going to fast food restaurants, acquainting ourselves with the station—"

Shepard slid off of her chair and started to walk toward the exit. Surprised, Garrus slammed the cup of jelly down on the counter, swiped his credit chip through the slot, and rushed after her.

"What are you doing now?"

"Detective work."

--

"Hello and welcome to Nabros 2!" said the machine. "How may I help you?"

It was an old and decidedly retro-looking AI console, one of many circling the large visitor's kiosk. Smelling of grime and smoke, the console was webbed with graffiti in several different languages.

"We're looking for clubs," said Shepard.

"Please hold! Datafile, 'Club', accessed! Thank you for waiting! Two lifeforms detected within user interface proximity! Turian! Human! Please confirm information!"

She looked to Garrus. He shrugged. "Confirm," said Shepard.

"Processing! Complete! List is as follows: End of Chora, Fadra's Nightclub, The Shug..."

"Can I have a written copy of the first 10 results?"

"Ten results compiled! Printing cost is, five hundred credits! Please insert!"

"Typical," said Garrus.

Shepard swiped her credit chip and a small piece of paper popped out of the top of the console.

"Please enjoy your stay!"

"Let's get out of here," said Shepard.

--

They skipped the first name on the list, as it sounded strictly anti-Citadel, and found themselves outside of Fadra's Nightclub. The entrance was a door carved out of concrete, with bouncers on either side. A faint heartbeat pulse rumbled from behind the door. The bouncer on the left looked them up and down, nodded to the other one, and pulled the door open.

"Thank you," said Garrus.

The bouncers said nothing.

Inside was a corporate security checkpoint that confiscated their weapons and pushed them through to the club entrance. The pulse was getting much louder, and could be felt in the floor. Shepard stopped, turned to Garrus, and said, "Okay. We go in and have a look around. If the place looks too dodgy, we try the next one on the list. Got it?"

"Simple."

"Yeah, simple. Like you said, it's a vacation. Sit around at the bar, have a few drinks, maybe dance a bit. We'll blend in just fine."

"My last foray into a nightclub was... not very smooth."

_You started this whole fiasco, last time you were in a nightclub._

Shepard frowned. "Yes, I remember. Just stick near me, you'll do fine."

"Whatever you say, Jane."

They walked side by side toward the growing noise.


	7. Bagged

Okay guys, I guess I should warn you. This is going to take a major turn into Dark Ville next chapter. You'll learn more about what's going on with Garrus—although more questions will be raised than answered, most likely. Coinciding with this, the much-vaunted DARK THEMEZ will start to creep in around next chapter.

******This chapter: **So we finally meet Nodin, and it turns out he's not actually that bad of a guy—or he could be lying. You can't be sure. If anything, I desperately want to avoid the standard 'Hollywood serial killer' villain trope, where the main antagonist is suave and badass and knows everything about everyone and is never outsmarted until the film's climactic scene where... they get shot, for some reason somehow. Because they have to get shot in the end, obviously. I might have gotten to this scene a little bit differently than I thought I would, but I've been wanting to do this from the beginning of the fanfic. I just like the idea of meeting the antagonist before the real 'chase' starts, is all.

I'm thinking maybe I'll start responding to reviews in this little opening segment here, too, just to show you guys that I read 'em. Starting next chapter.

**As always, review please.** Since the plot just got kicked into motion I should have no trouble pumping out the next few updates. Reviews are a big motivator. Especially reviews with lots of smiley faces and hearts, like this ^_^ 3333333333 but not too many hearts because you might crash the servers.

* * *

**7**

**Bagged  
**

The spotlight beams trained on the dance floor were the color of blood. A DJ—human, black, wearing a loose white shirt—stood behind an enormous mixing table, waving his hands around in the blood-colored mist like some vampire god. Staircases on either side of the club led to bars and tables on raised platforms that surrounded the dance floor in a U-shape.

Shepard and Garrus shrugged their way through the outskirts of the crowd and up the right hand staircase. They sat down at the bar and turned to look at the club.

"What time is it?" said Shepard.

"I don't know," replied Garrus. "Two o'clock, standard time?"

Shepard squinted, peering through the mist to the bar opposite them. "Crowded for two o'clock."

A voice came from behind them. "This place never sleeps." Startled, they turned around. It was the bartender, a middle-aged human man with a grizzled beard. He looked back and forth between the two of them.

"Jesus, don't sneak up on people like that," said Shepard.

"Sorry," he said. His voice was a rustic tenor. "You two new here? Never seen you before. Everyone knows that Fadra's never closes."

"That a fact?"

"Yes." His eyes narrowed, trying to gauge Shepard. Then he looked to Garrus. "So what's your story?" he asked.

Shepard's eyes flickered in Garrus's direction, worried.

"We just got here a few hours ago." Garrus paused. Shepard locked her fingers behind her back.

"Name's Lorik, and this is my wife, Jane."

_Oh you fucking—_

"Really now?" The bartender adopted a strange, cartoonish expression. "How long you two been running together?"

Garrus dove into his grab bag of human expressions. "Six months, give or take."

"Well—" The bartender shook his head, smiling. "—I'll be damned. You don't see that much. Suppose that's why you're out here on the Rim in the first place!" He laughed gutturally. "Can I get you two something to drink? On the house."

Shepard said, "One brandy, please. Thanks," and forced a smile.

"Can I have a Turian brandy, then?"

"Aww," the man said, flopping his wrist at Garrus dismissively. "You don't want that watered down shit. Tell you what, I'll mix you something. My own little secret recipe, Turian specialty."

"Sounds great. Thank you."

"No problem." The man whistled and walked away.

Shepard's head collapsed into her waiting palms.

"Garrus."

"Jane?"

She exhaled, laid her palms flat on the table, and turned her head to meet his eyes. "What, the fuck, are you doing?"

"What? I thought that went well, he's—"

"It was a joke!" she hissed. As much as she wanted to be angry with him, the situation was so ridiculous she felt a smile coming on. "Don't you remember?"

"You said we needed aliases. We have aliases, now."

"But..." Her frown exploded into a smile, and she groaned. She put her hand on his shoulder. "Just, never mind. We're doing fine, but, let me do the talking from now on, okay?"

Garrus shook his head. "Whatever you say."

The bartender was back, holding two glasses. "This one is yours," he said, "and here's my special mix. Go ahead, have a taste!"

Garrus took a sip. It tasted like a hundred different fruits laced with cocaine. "Not bad at all," said the turian.

"Need anything else, just ask," said the man. "Welcome to Nabros 2."

Shepard smiled at the man, and he walked away. She waited until he was out of earshot and said, "Don't drink that."

"Why?"

"We're still in enemy territory here. Can't let our guard down like that. Also, we're supposed to be gathering information, and that's difficult to do when you're drunk."

Garrus put the drink down on the counter. "So what should we do, then?"

"I don't know." Shepard looked back over her shoulder. "Want to dance for a bit?"

The turian thumbed some of the condensation off the side of the glass and rubbed it between his talons. "Not exactly."

"Oh, what's wrong. Afraid to dance with your wife?"

"I don't dance."

"This isn't the waltz. Anyone can 'do it', it's just moving with the music."

Garrus was about to agree when he heard a soft click behind his head.

"Hands up, now," said a corrosive Turian voice. "Both of you."

There was one behind Shepard who stayed silent. Garrus raised his hands off the bar top. He watched Shepard do the same, albeit slower.

The turian's voice sounded again. "You know, I've got plenty of better things to be doing than trailing a couple of Citadel punks like yourselves. And I'd certainly love to see both of you with nice little holes in the backs of your pretty Alliance heads. So let's cut the shit. I count to three, you both get up. Get up at two, you die. Four, you die. Understand?"

This was not the first time Garrus had been in a situation like this. The typical response, on the cop's end, was to gauge the stability of the armed combatant.

"What about one?" said Garrus.

He slammed the pistol into the base of Garrus's skull. Shepard winced as his head impacted the bar top. He was out cold. She glanced down the length of the bar. Other patrons looked nervously away.

The turian pointed the pistol at Shepard. "One," he said.

--

Shepard choked at the black bag covering her head. There was a man walking behind her and she could feel the metal ringlet of a shotgun barrel pressing into her spine. The invisible cannon prodded her again.

_Vacation's over._

She tilted her head up toward what she thought was a light source. "Where are we going?" she asked.

"Shut the fuck up and keep walking," said the other man. His voice didn't give any hints as to his species. He must have been wearing a gas mask.

Shepard called out to Garrus. He didn't respond.

"Get in the tram car," the man said.

"Where are we going?"

He clubbed her with the shotgun in the skull and threw her into the transport. She blacked out.

--

She woke up an indeterminate amount of time later. She was being carried by two men who held her underneath her shoulders. Her hands were tied behind her back. The bag was still over her head.

They rode upward in an elevator and exited onto a marble floor. After exchanging words with someone who sounded female, they clunked along the flooring, entered another elevator, went up a few floors, walked out, and stopped.

"I think she's awake," one of them said.

"Take it off," a voice echoed from across the room. It sounded Turian but Shepard was too disoriented to tell.

The blackness was gone suddenly and Shepard squinted against the light. Windows on the left had their solar filters turned down and the sun poured in, reflecting off the white walls. She could make out a figure sitting behind a desk across the marble floor. Ten feet to her left was Garrus, hands tied, eyes sharp, growling in low tones at the figure. Two men were stationed on either side, restraining him.

"So..." said the figure, tapping the surface of the desk, leaning back in his chair. "That's that, I suppose."

After staying motionless for a moment, he abruptly stood up, slid over the top of the desk, and walked to the pair.

He was a turian, his features brown, lacking any markings to represent his home colony, wearing simple black armor that wasn't overly concerned with aesthetic appearance. He fiddled with something that looked like a lighter, shoved it into the armor's back pocket, and looked between the two of them.

He lifted his hand to point at Shepard. "You..." he said, and panned slowly to point at Garrus. "And you." A rumbling came from Garrus's throat.

The figure faced her again. "Shepard, right? Commander Shepard?"

She gritted her teeth. "Yes."

"I'm not one for handshakes, but I'll let you know it's a great, if troubling, honor to have someone such as yourself on my station." He spoke smoothly and without a hint of sarcasm.

"The back of my head feels differently," she said.

He rubbed his chin in a curiously human-like manner, mandibles twitching. "Hopefully one day we can speak on more even terms, then. I have many questions I'd like to ask you. If I thought highly of myself I'd say this was an honor reserved for a select few people, but I'll settle for saying it is unusual."

Shepard stared at him fiercely and he looked down.

_That's interesting, _thought Shepard. For a criminal, a serial killer, in his position, anything short of cockiness was abnormal. She couldn't believe that anything he said was true—mindgames, obviously—but his reaction did cast some doubt into her mind.

Garrus, on the other hand, was positively fuming.

"And you," said the mysterious turian, "are a bit less high-profile. Don't tell me, it's..." His eyes tightened. "It's right there, you look familiar. Related to... Yes! Vakarian, that's who you are, that old bastard's son." He looked from Garrus to Shepard. "What's a fine, upstanding C-Sec officer like yourself doing with a Spectre? Especially a human Spectre."

"Nodin," said Garrus, like the name was a curse.

"Yes, yes, that's my name. Thank you for that." The figure, Nodin, turned on his heel and paced back and forth in front of them.

"What do you want?" Shepard asked in soft tones.

"People always ask me that," Nodin said. "It makes no sense. I was a C-Sec officer for twenty years. I built this entire station from scratch." He paused. "I have so much fucking money I could make clones of myself and get rid of these heedless fools who hit beautiful women in the back of the head at a moment's notice. If I knew what I wanted, don't you think I'd be there _doing_ it?" His expression sharpened under the filtered light.

"Then it stands to reason," said Shepard, "that this is what you want."

His mandibles twitched again, he reached up to stroke them like a mustache. "And what is this?"

"You kidnapped us, tied us up, and brought us here. Is that so difficult to understand?"

"Yes, actually, because if memory serves, you flew here. You, landed on, _my_, station." He took the lighter-like object out again and began to fiddle with it. Shepard noted his habit. If it was not a ruse, it indicated discomfort—perhaps even hesitation.

"You're not stupid," she said. "You know why we're here."

His gray eyes focused on her again. "I know why he is here, but not you." He paused, bringing his hand up to his mouth in a somewhat feminine gesture. "I apologize. I know why you are here, but I don't understand. Him, I understand."

Garrus pulled against his captors, "Shepard don't listen to—"

Immediately, Nodin's hand was pointing toward Garrus, cutting the turian off. "Garrus Vakarian." Nodin smiled slightly at Garrus's response, but it was a momentary occurrence. "Yes, I know exactly who you are. Judging by your reactions, I'd say I know more about you than you do yourself."

"You want to speak to anyone," hissed Shepard, "speak to me. Leave my crewmate alone."

"You'll get your chance," Nodin said, "just wait."

He moved closer to Garrus. Blue eyes met gray. "You're not like your father," Nodin said. "You are, different."

Garrus was silent.

Nodin looked to Shepard and back. He smiled, frowned, then looked puzzled. "Does she know?" he whispered.

"What are you talking about?" said Garrus. His mandibles splayed outward in anger.

"I suppose that's a no. Well then, you'll have much to talk about back on your ship."

Shepard's face tightened. "You're not going to let us go. I know that."

The serial killer looked hurt. _Good actor, _thought Shepard.

"Cut her loose," said Nodin, as if he had read her mind.

The two guards behind Shepard exchanged perplexed glances. "Sir?" one of them said.

"Just do it," he snapped. "She's unarmed. And she won't make trouble. Will she?" After some hesitation, Shepard shook her head. "See? Cut her loose."

The guards did as they were told, and Shepard shrugged free of the ropes. Nodin beckoned Shepard forward with his index finger. She shot him a hostile glare.

"Come closer," he said.

After a questioning glance toward Garrus, who shook his head, she took a tentative step toward Nodin, and another, her boots echoing softly throughout the room.

"Closer..."

She continued until she was about a foot away from him. Crossing her arms over her chest, she looked up to meet his eyes. Keeping his feet together, he leaned forward until his face was mere inches away from hers.

"I'm going to put my hand on your back," he whispered. "Is this going to bother you?"

Shepard's eyes widened but she fought the reflex down before he could notice. "Excuse me?"

"Shhh," he hissed. "Don't let them hear you. I asked you a simple question."

"For what purpose?"

"I need to know that you won't do something stupid, like scream."

"Or get you in a shoulder lock and rip your arm off," said Shepard.

"So the legends are true! You're quite the folk hero among humans. All kidding aside, I need a straight answer."

"Go ahead and find out."

His mandibles twisted into a smile. "Very well." He reached around to her back, spreading his palm wide across her spine, maneuvering to the side so that he could hold her in the crux of his shoulder. When Shepard didn't react, he began to walk with her toward his desk on the other side of the room.

"Shepard!" Garrus called out to her. She looked over her shoulder and tried to placate him. It didn't seem to work.

When they reached the desk, he let Shepard out from under his arm and she turned to face him. "What's this about?" said Shepard.

He looked down at her with stern eyes, motioning downward with his hands. "Here is something you currently do not understand: You are a Spectre. You are the first human Spectre in history. If I let you go, those men will kill you. In the elevator, on the street, in the car. It doesn't matter. Now that they know who you are, they will put a bullet in your head and leave this station given the slightest opportunity. Do you have any idea what kind of reputation that would earn in the criminal community? To kill someone of such importance?"

She kept her guard up, suspecting some sort of deception, but replied. "I understand. Your point?"

"My point is keep your voice down. My point is, unless you and your friend want to die, we're going to have to get rid of them."

"What are you talking about?" Shepard eyes narrowed to slits.

"Did you really think I intended to kill you?"

"Yes," said Shepard, immediately.

"Why don't you have any weapons? Oh yes, I remember. Because I couldn't _possibly_ be here. It would be such an _amateurish_ mistake." For the first time, he showed something resembling anger. "That was your line of thinking, was it not? Face it. If I wanted to I could have sent a kill team down there and you would be dead right now. But you're not."

Shepard's eyes glazed over. _He's toying with us, _she thought. "So why aren't we dead?"

His look of sadness returned. "I meant what I said. You're not someone I'd like to see gone, not someone I would—" He moved closer to her, sniffing at her. Shepard took a step back, revolted and confused. "—like to, absorb." He smiled. "I can't kill you, and you can't kill me. Isn't that right? I assume they told you they wanted me alive."

She suspected that he knew already, and was asking a rhetorical question, but she didn't want to throw away her only card. "If you say so," she said.

"Perhaps later, when this is over, we can speak in more depth."

"Perhaps."

"Your friend—" He looked over his shoulder at Garrus, struggling against the guards. "—is a problem. Do you see this?" He reached into his pocket again, retrieving the lighter-like object. "This is an injection device. It will 'dope' him, so to speak. That will be the cover we need to take the guards out as quickly as possible."

"Not going to happen," said Shepard. "You're not drugging one of my crewmates."

Ignoring her, he said, "Do you see that button, right there?" He pointed to the center of his armor.

"Yes."

"Press it."

Shepard reached out and punched the button inward. A small compartment opened on his chest, containing a compact energy pistol.

"Take it," he said. "Discreetly, if possible." She lifted the pistol from its compartment and held it against her chest. Nodin's body concealed the weapon from the guards. "I have shields tailored to that pistol's output. So don't shoot me, please. I'm ticklish."

She glared at him, but tucked the pistol into her jeans and folded her shirt over it.

"Now," he said, "we go back. I make a scene. I administer the drug, turn, and tap my foot. That's the signal. You shoot the two on the left, and I'll handle the ones on the right. Got it?"

"Why are you doing all this?" she asked, letting curiosity slip into her speech.

"Because I like to speak more than shoot. But sometimes shooting is necessary." He half-smiled. "Are you ready?"

Shepard frowned, realizing she would not get a better answer out of him. "Yes."

He pushed the compartment on his armor shut and turned. Shepard followed him loosely as he walked back toward Garrus. The gun was burning a hole into her skin, and every time the hired muscle's eyes drifted in her direction, she _knew_ that they had seen its outline underneath her shirt. But they had not.

"Well then," said Nodin, eerily. Shepard noticed the change. He sounded flippant, hollow, like he was pretending. _Is he acting now or was he acting before? _"I guess it's time to ship these two out. But you—" He pointed to Garrus. "—are going to be too much trouble. Don't worry, I have just the thing."

He thumbed the injector from his pocket and brought it slowly to Garrus's neck.

"Hold him steady," said Nodin. The guard's tightened their grip. Nodin pressed the injector into Garrus's neck and it hissed. Garrus clenched his beak in pain. After a moment, his mandibles loosened, drooping downward comically. His legs started to give out. "Let him fall," said Nodin.

The guards chuckled and dropped the turian on the floor. He fell limp.

"Now..." Nodin trailed off, turning to face Shepard in a graceful motion. For the first time in her life, a turian winked at her. "What to do with you?"

Shepard's right hand began to migrate toward her belt buckle.

Nodin tapped his foot on floor.

* * *


End file.
